Asylum
by Aliathe
Summary: I'm not insane. I'm not. [deadfic]
1. Blaze of Glee

**Disclaimer:**

_I don't own KHR! or the cover picture._

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The_ house was on fire._

_Fire that danced and flickered and burned and scorched, licking the wooden framework with hungrily lashing tongues of _crimson_scarlet__**white-hot**__**sizzling**__-_

. . .

Fran sucked in a shuddery gasp, jolting upright.

Where was she?

The last thing she remembered was-

. . .

_The house was on fire._

_She had to get out, she had to get out __**now**_ _or she'd be __**gone**__, she'd be _gone_gone__**gone**__**dead**_.

_But wait._

_Just wait a second._

_Who would __**care?**_

_That thought struck her suddenly, suddenly as she tumbled out the window and landed ungracefully into a particularly bushy plants._

_**Who would **__**care**_ _**because she had **__**no one**_ _**to **__**care**_ _**because they were all **_gone_gone__**gone**__**dead**_ _**and**_-

. . .

White-washed hospital walls greeted her upon awakening, and the putrid odor of strong antiseptics invaded her senses forcibly.

"Miss? Miss are you alright-"

. . .

_The house was on fire._

_Standing there in front of her former residence (not home, no not home, because what did someone like her know of __**homes**_ _and __**belonging**_ _and __**family**__? it was all _useless_useless__**useless**__**unnecessary**_), _one arm gingerly supporting broken ribs and a fractured arm from the fall, she could do nothing else but __**stare**__._

_Because __**wow**_ _was this a major adrenaline rush _

_and she could hear her heart going thump-thump-thumpity-thump_

_faster and faster and __**faster**_ _while _

_her knees felt weak and her muscles turned to gelatin and _

_she slumped onto the ground with her strings cut _

_an empty marionette unbound by the exhilaration of the near-death experience that was so unlike _

_her usual _dull_boring__**apathetic**__**monotonous**_ _haze of days_

_and finally her head cleared and she could __**think**_ _and _

_yet all she could think was-_

. . .

A concerned orderly peered down at Fran, worriedly fluttering around in a fit.

"Oh, dear, must be the shock, yes it must be, now just wait here while I go and fetch you some water, m'kay?"

Opening her dry, chapped lips to speak, the patient croaked out-

. . .

_The house was on fire._

_And boy was it __**glorious**__._

_Fascinated, temporarily forgetting where she was and what had happened _

_and __**who**_ _she was and __**who**_ _was __**watching**_ _because __**they were **__**always**_ _**watching and waiting**_

_tentative fingers were outstretched towards the fiery flaring flames that flashed and sparked and cast soft shadows of cinders and sowed ashes in it's destructive wake._

_Like a phoenix rising, like a damnation from above, like a cleansing of the past…_

_It made her blood __**sing**_ _and her heartbeat __**race**_ _and her skin __**tingle**_ _with __**heat**_ _and __**pain**__, __**pain **__that reminded her she was __**alive**__._

_Beautiful, she decided._

_The sight of the fire was __**beautiful.**_

_Now if she could just hold some of that beauty for herself, capture it, snatch it, __**cradle it tenderly in her hands as she stares with eyes reflecting the glowing embers**__..._

_That was how the police found her._

_Standing among the singed grass in her former front yard, staring with an unfocused but wholly absorbed gaze at the spectacle of the burning house, hands held in front of her as if to reach for the flames, and the neighbors who'd alerted the fire department speaking off to the side in hushed whispers and throwing furtive glances at the 'strange loner child'._

"_What do you mean she's an __**orphan**__? Who has she been living with, then? Surely a child living alone would've been reported to Child Services by now."_

"_Ah, well, officer, you see-"_

. . .

"Miss Frances A. Brume? I see you've woken up. I'm Jacques Lafayette; I work for the Childcare Services of France. I'm afraid that the fire burned down your house, and as you have no legal guardian anyway, you are now a ward of the state. Meaning… well, I'm terribly sorry about this, Miss Brume, but you'll have to go to an orphanage."

Fran Amarante Brume, a tealette child who was 11 years of age, looked blankly at the smiling blond man, whose smile gradually shrunk as time wore on as she never answered.

Then she spoke, arms laying limply at her sides, a cast on one and a bulky plaster on her ribs, eyes placid and unreadable.

"Will there be fire?"

. . .

_The house was on fire._

_It was on fire because of __**her.**_

_Fran glanced down at the box of matches clutched tightly in her fingers, and grinned crookedly, like one who was unused to showing such facial expressions._

_**Because of**_ _**her**__._

_And now she was finally content._

_Something __**interesting**_ _had happened._

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_**I don't even know anymore. This chapter just kinda begged to be written. So yeah, it's a Fran who is basically indifferent to life because everything seems boring. Then one day she's playing around with matches since she's a rebellious little preteen like that, and her house burns down. That day, she discovered the adrenaline rush from nearly dying and decides that it was interesting, or at least not boring like usual, and thus a adrenaline addict sometimes-suicidal pyromaniac Fran was born. Yay. Oh, and as a warning, the way I write will probably change often from chapter to chapter. Some chapters are very dramatic and angsty, which I tend to write in a haphazard fluid-format style, while others are much more plain-spoken and descriptive to set a scene or get some plot point over with. **_

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_**~Please Review.~**_


	2. Trial for Fire

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '**chrihstie**', for your review. It was definitely supremely encouraging to have a review so soon after I publish a new story, especially if the chapter was much shorter than my standards usually are. But seriously, I love lit analysis! Feel free to analyze it as much as you want; any feedback is appreciated. Yup, I've tried to stick as close to Fran's canon personality as possible. His background just lends itself to interpretation, though... I mean, lost memories? So talented at such a young age? So deadpan and casually insulting at such a young age? Does he really not feel for his grandmother at all, or does he just hide it? What's with the missing parents and ultra-classified profile? ... so. many. possibilities. :0_

**Disclaimer:**

_I don't own KHR! or the cover picture._

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"Court is now in session. Prosecutor is the Town Board of Fayer, vs. the defendant, Miss Frances Amarante Brume. The defendant is being accused of repeatedly setting public and private property on fire, as well as petty theft and shoplifting, all of which are against town laws. How do you plead?"

Lazily shifting from where she was carelessly sprawled across her wooden seat, teal eyes blinked slowly, calmly, at the severe set of steel gray eyes pinning her down from the judge's chair.

"Guilty as charged, Judge. Ready to take me away in chains to be locked up for eternity in order to stew over my terrible, terrible sins?" she inquired, with only curiosity and a slightly mocking edge in her voice, no fear nor repentance nor actual guilt.

The judge frowned sharply, but nonetheless smartly rapped the gavel against her desk.

She shot a look at the restless jury members, already knowing how this would play out.

"If the defendant has nothing else to say, then the prosecution's evidence is sufficient to make a decision with. Everyone, fifteen minute break. The defendant and prosecution are to stay in the building. The jury will convene in the Discussion Room to decide on their verdict. When the break is over, you'd better all be back here. _Or I'll arrest you to death_. Understood?"

General murmurs of assent came from the people in the room, and then they tiredly filed.

The town of Fayer had been through this routine so many times, that the whole 'trial' was nothing but a farce.

They all knew what would happen and how it would end up.

First, Fran, the orphan who'd been living in the Fayer Orphanage for the past 5 years, would go around doing whatever it was that she did.

After a few weeks of delinquency and stealing and spontaneously setting things around town alight, somebody would get irritated enough to file a complaint.

Fran would then be sent to Town Hall, putting up no resistance whatsoever.

The necessary people needed would be gathered, including the judge, the jury, the prosecution representatives of Fayer, and the obligatory defendant lawyer.

Once everyone was seated, Fran would then dismiss her provided lawyer and state her wish to be her own defendant.

As per the laws, she would be granted that wish.

Then the judge would state the charges and open court.

Fran immediately confesses to the charges and announces herself as 'guilty', before placidly taking whatever punishment the jury decides and the judge approves.

Some people even thought that the tealette _enjoyed_ going to the Kokuyo Juvenile Detention Center a town over (it had to be a town over, for Fayer wasn't big enough or possessing a high enough crime rate to warrant the building of a 'child prison'), for some obscure reason.

. . .

That wasn't too far off of the mark, actually.

Truthfully, Fran just did everything that she did for one purpose and one purpose only:

To find 'interesting' things to alleviate boredom.

Oh, sure, there was still a special spot in her shrunken little morally gray heart for the beautiful flames of fire she created (_she_ created… it was _hers_…). The flames still warmed her and singed her just enough if she got too close.

"Don't play with fire, kiddies," the brainwashed adult masses always preached to the impressionable young molds- er, children. "Or else you'll get burned."

But then that brings up the questions: /_What if I __**want**_ _to get __**burned**__?/_

Because sometimes, sometimes when everything around her was a bit too dull for a bit too long, she'd think and muse and ponder a bit too deeply.

_/Is it really __**living**_ _if I don't __**feel**_ _anything? Is it really __**living**_ _if life is so __**plain**__? Is it really __**living**__, or is it just being suspended in some sort of __**Limbo**__, or is it just a __**living **__**death**__?/_

So she was curious.

So she tried out different things.

"Curiosity killed the cat," they drone on and on, permanently smiling fakely, permanently plastering on that patronizing 'you-don't-know-any-better' tone.

_/But __**satisfaction**_ _brought it back./_

And as long as what she did satisfied her, she'd be… not _happy_, but she'd be _content_ to keep doing things the same way.

Setting things on fire to watch it _blaze_ into _ashes_ with those _pretty-pretty scorching-to-the-touch colors woven into the flames?_

Satisfying. Probably her favorite past-time, as well.

Petty theft, pickpocketing, shoplifting?

Satisfying. There was always a brief shiver of _thrill_ that crawled tantalizingly under her skin, whenever she pulled off a successful heist and could examine her loot.

Most of it was sold for money (and most of _it_ was used for matches; you couldn't say she wasn't prepared, not with all these boxes of waterproof matches hidden on her [she didn't trust lighters; they could too easily break and shatter and dowse their user in the highly flammable oil, which was just a _foolish_ risk, and though Fran liked taking risks, _she was no __**fool**_]), and the rest were kept as trophies or simply collected or used.

The tiny pocket-change given as allowance to the orphanage children wasn't enough to indulge in her more _expensive_ habits.

She wasn't very fond of the orphanage's subpar food, clothing, rooms, and general state of affairs.

It was an open secret that Frances Brume, the 'troublemaker child', spent very little time at her official residence.

No-one knew where she spent all that other time at, and where she stayed when she didn't return to her allotted bedroom, and no-one cared enough to ask.

_/In a way, being an orphan is awfully convenient. No parents to shackle you down with their 'protection' and 'rules', and the other adults are usually uncomfortable enough with orphans that they rarely say anything to the orphanage director./_

_. . ._

As for anything else?

… Well, when there was nothing left to do, she'd often sneak into the library and pilfer a few books, snagging some snacks to go along with it, and then hole herself up by the river in the Fayer Forest.

It was mostly left alone by the denizens of Fayer, as in today's modern age and time, apparently letting children play unsupervised in woodland was frowned upon.

Teens sometimes went there to make out and camp and engage in less 'appropriate' activities, but a few scary noises, rustling bushes, faked bear roars, and pebbles thrown did wonders for accentuating the 'creepy and haunted' reputation.

The reputation that Fran had built up from scratch, of course.

Because for some reason, the river had always appealed to her.

Soothed her.

_Interested_ her.

Ever-changing currents, ever-changing grit, ever-changing speed and warmth and purity…

She could stare at the river for _hours_, and it wasn't uncommon for her to do so, running her hands through the water and being fascinated by the wavering reflection of her skin texture and grooves.

Oh, yes. The books.

Fran didn't know if she was a genius or not.

Probably not.

Clever? Maybe.

But most of it just boiled down to common sense and observations and a good memory.

When everything seemed washed-out and tedious, like a thankless, repetitive chore that had to be completed, it was the fine details that jumped out at her, especially if they were out-of-the-ordinary.

Then it was simply a matter of connecting the dots.

_/Oh? Mrs. Abel switched out the typical Tuesday lemon pastries with blueberry pie. Hmm… I remember reading that lemon prices were rising because of drought and an uptick in shipping prices. Economizing, then. Her husband's co-owner, though, and he's not the type to scrimp on quality. Money problems? She looked angrier than usual today; the flyer she put up is crumpled instead of her favored carefulness. Arguments. Marital issues? Oh, right, their anniversary was yesterday. Did Mr. Abel forget? She's not wearing her diamond engagement ring… possible divorce in the future./_

All that from a passing glance.

… She walked in and bought a slice of blueberry pie.

So yes, going to Kokuyo for about a week every month was no big deal to her.

It actually provided a break for her, a break from the monotony of life as a teen in suburban Fayer, a town a few yards away from the official France-Italy border.

. . .

Kokuyo Juvenile Detention Center was on the other side of the marked line, a border-town.

Your typical envisioned juvie, really; take a few stereotypes off from the cinema screens, and there you have it.

Shaped like a high school… with barbed wire infesting the front grounds and an electrified fence for ominous, intimidation effect.

When Fran walked in, it didn't feel any different from her usual schedule at her usual high school.

If, you know, you added a lot more punky thugs swaggering around with cheap bling and knockoff clothes, flashing gang signs and bragging obnoxiously.

Pfft.

Weaklings.

The Kokuyo discipliners ('teachers') were all retired (or maybe not-really-retired) policeman and bodyguards and security guards and such.

They were capable of handling themselves and putting the cockier kids in their place.

Their place beneath the feet of all the smarter ones who displayed actual _cunning _and _didn't_ go around picking fights and flaunting their skills (and glaring, glaring weaknesses).

'Suck-ups? Teacher's pets?'

If being a suck-up and a teacher's pet meant that during lunch, you were allowed to eat in peace and cut the line and stay out of the typical cafeteria-room brawls, then so be it.

Hah.

They've got all of the pudding, anyway.

(And I'm not kidding here; pudding's some seriously serious shit when it's concerned in Kokuyo. It's also the only semi-sweet and flavorful _edible_ food product allowed in the Kokuyo cafeteria. There are rumors of a Kokuyo Pudding Black Market.)

. . .

The first person Fran met on her first day in Kokuyo for the first time (_for the first time in forever~-_, okay, I'll stop now), happened to be her seatmate.

She'd arrived early, and not by choice.

Ugh, that judge must've known that she'd skip out if possible, and had told her the wrong time to arrive.

"Are you a mutated pineapple?" she asked him tonelessly, blunt.

He gave a sort of eerie cackle-rasp.

"Kufufufufu… Oya, oya, what a rude question."

"I'm a rude person. Or so I've been told, by nearly every adult I have had the misfortune of meeting. What're you in for, pineapple-fairy?"

His eyes opened, revealing a heterochromatic glare aimed at me.

"Kufufufufu… _what_ did you call me?"

She ignored the menacing hint in his voice.

"Jeez, are you deaf as well? You're a fairy, because you have blue hair, and because it seems to piss you off tremendously. Pineapple, because your hairstyle looks like a retarded pineapple that was dyed blue. Poisoned blue works, too. Did that eye tattoo hurt, though? It must have."

Indeed, a quite clear black symbol was tattooed onto his right eye, the one with the bright red iris.

Rummaging through her mentally catalogued memories, Fran vaguely recalled seeing it in a book on Chinese-Japanese relations once. Some examples of their native languages had been included.

_/'Kanji', right? Or just Chinese characters. They both mean 'six', I think. Six what?/_

Then she glanced down at her hand.

"Ow," she uttered blandly, soundly anything but hurt.

She lifted up the back of her hand to properly examine the sharp implement that had been inserted.

"Did you just stab me with a pitchfork-toothpick, pineapple-fairy?"

He growled.

"It's not a _pitchfork-toothpick_, and I'm _not_ a _pineapple-fairy_. It's a _trident_, see?"

If she tilted her head exaggeratedly and squinted her eyes comically, she could kinda see the resemblence.

But still…

Who the hell lets a 'juvenile delinquent' carry around a box of plastic trident-shaped toothpicks all day?

And for that matter, who the hell _stabs_ someone with a _plastic trident-shaped toothpick_?

Like, seriously?

Toothpicks?

Toothpicks.

Tooth-picks.

Purple plastic toothpicks capped with silvery plastic points, the entire thing about as long as her index finger, and thinner than a pencil.

_/Yeah, it's no use. No matter how I say it, it just doesn't sound menacing at all. Eh, I guess it's an ingenious way around the 'no weapons' rule, though. You can't exactly say that toothpicks are weapons. And it does make him a lot more __**interesting**__.../_

Calmly sliding out the toothpick, she snapped it in half and laid the pieces down onto the pineapple-fairy's desk with a clatter.

A casual glance picked up on a neat cylindrical hole marring her porcelain skin, but no blood.

The pineapple-fairy appeared mystified, and faintly puzzled.

He was good at hiding his emotions, though, Fran had to give him credit for that.

Unluckily for him, she was an expert people-reader after people-watching and observing and practicing how to fake expressions (it helped to be prepared) for so long.

Other than a lingering look at the snapped toothpick and the lack of blood on her hand, his face betrayed no hint of his confusion.

"Kufufufufu… How come you felt no pain and didn't bleed, little one?"

"Genetic condition, I suppose," she shrugged smoothly in response, not refuting her new title as 'little one'.

(Several worse names had been given to her before.)

In truth, she had muted pain receptors and nerves, meaning that though her sensory nerves were alright, and even perhaps more sensitive than the average, any pain was suppressed and not fully felt by the nervous system, so her brain didn't experience pain as often or as vividly.

Anything from papercuts and down weren't even registered.

Her epidermis skin layer had an unusual density of dead skin cells, thus making her outer protective layer of skin a lot deeper and harder to pierce through.

Blood was harder to draw, too, since it clotted a bit thicker and usually didn't squeeze past the epidermis unless the wound was very severe.

She wasn't going to tell a random stranger that, though, interesting or not.

As if sensing her wariness, the pineapple-fairy suddenly smirked and held out a hand.

"Mukuro Rokudo," he volunteered.

Slim, pale fingers were limply curled around his own.

"Fran Brume."

(Because she'd always preferred Fran over Frances, for the same unknown reason about why she liked rivers so much, and why she abhorred being called a frog. Like she'd lived through those things before…)

A lifted lip, a glimmer of pearly white teeth, out from which a voice filtered through, suave and charming.

"How'd you like to be my apprentice, little one?"

The teeth look more like fangs now, blurred into sharply defined edges.

Something nudges her inside to accept.

_/It'll definitely be __**interesting**_… _hanging around an __**interesting**_ _guy like him will result in the domino effect, most probably.../_

And that was that.

The fingers tightened and then slacked back into looseness.

"Sure, why not? Pineapple-fairy."

(Which should've really set the scene for what all of their future meetings would result in.)

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_**My muse is currently focused on 'Asylum' and 'Heirarchy', a fic idea that's on my profile, buried somewhere amid all of the other unwritten ideas. So yeah, still gonna be slow updates for my other fics. Days, weeks… hopefully not months.**_

_**Also, guess who the judge is? It's pretty obviously hinted at, but just to clear up any misunderstandings, it's not Alaude.**_

_**Next chapter: 'Jailfrog'. Or should I go for 'Jailfroggie'? Or 'Jailbirds and Jailfrogs'? Or 'Jailbirdies and Jailfroggies'? Some characters from other fandoms will be making cameos. Anyone you want to see in particular, as a fellow 'juvenile delinquent' or teacher/discipliner or guard or, I dunno, animal/concerned family/painting? Anyone?**_

_**(Yes, that is me shamelessly soliciting reviews. Oh noes, my evil plot has been foiled! ... Here, have a mind-control marshmallow from Byakuran-, er, I mean, a perfectly harmless new species of fluffy tuna from the spawner of sparkles and hearts, Nana Sawada herself!)**_

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_**~Please Review.~**_


	3. The Lunch Club

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**Guest**_'_, for your review. Your wish has been granted, though I apologize if I portrayed her incorrectly. I haven't ever read Persona 4. xp_

_Thank you, '__**Ann**_'_, for your review. Your cameos were also included, and the feedback was definitely appreciated. I hope you keep enjoying the chapters and reviewing, then!~ :] Sorry about the chapter title, though. 'Jailfroggy' got pushed back. Can you guess the reference here, though?_

**Disclaimer:**

_I don't own KHR! or the cover picture._

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After an uneventful class on 'moral behavior and the expectations of society' which none of the 'students'/'inmates' listened to (and which Fran and Mukuro had passed the time away by playing games of tic-tac-toe-stab), they were released for lunch.

Kokuyo Juvenile Detention Center's lunch period was an hour long, and doubled as the unofficial 'introductory sesssion' for all of the newbies.

Today was Tuesday; according to the pineapple-fairy, a.k.a. her new 'master', Tuesdays at Kokuyo were always the first days for the freshly sentenced.

Sentences for Kokuyo lasted anywhere from 3 days to forever.

It being Fran's first court trial punishment, her sentence was the minimum 3 days.

Mukuro claimed he was one of the 'forever' sentenced.

(There were dorms on the Kokuyo grounds, because apparently the 'delinquents' couldn't be trusted off-grounds for their sentence. The dorms were impersonal, cold, gray buildings of crumbling mortar and rotting wood that easily fell apart. Several people had accidentally fallen through holes in the floor when the ground disintegrated underneath them, all coated with thick dust.)

And, being his new 'apprentice', she was now going to be introduced to the pineapple-fairy's 'minions'.

Well, he didn't call them 'minions', per say.

It was more along the lines of, "Kufufufufu~... since you are now my apprentice, little one, it is only fitting that I introduce you to my underlings as soon as possible."

"Don't you mean your friends, pineapple-fairy?"

"I don't have _friends_, little one. I have followers and allies and subordinates and _underlings_. And _don't call me that!_"

Fran simply plucked out the newly stabbed toothpick from her hand and tossed it away with a minor roll of the eyes.

That was the tenth toothpick she'd gotten stabbed with ever since she'd met the crazy pineapple-fairy.

She'd met the crazy pineapple-fairy less than two _hours_ ago.

A rate of one toothpick-, oh, sorry, _trident_ stab every twelve minutes.

At least she won most of the tic-tac-toe-stab games, or else the number of stabs would've been significantly higher.

"So this is the cafeteria?" she chose to comment instead, eying the nondescript concrete walls and bolted-down steel tables and benches.

He pulled her along into the lunch line, picking up a plastic sectioned plate with a scrunch of his nose in displeasure at the sight.

"Yes, it is. Welcome to the extremely humble abode of bad food and bar fights minus the bar, because we aren't allowed alcohol in here."

. . .

Copying his example, Fran picked up a plate of her own, and refrained from remarking upon how he looked like he was trying to glare lasers through the colorless washed-out plates.

It was certainly tempting, and normally she would've, just to see his doubtless quite amusing reaction, but the pineapple-fairy seemed to be on a roll, and it would've gotten him off-track and possibly irritated enough to stop feeding her information.

Information, she'd learned early on in orphan life, was valuable. It could make or break or _utterly __**annihilate**_ a person, their reputation, and maybe even shame their descendants reputations for eternity, or at least until people forgot about whatever it was.

(Which meant less than a thousand years. Human minds may be quick to hold a grudge, but human lives are like fireflies winking out from existence amid the stars and moons and sun. Everything just kinda pales in comparison if you think about it like that.)

Tuning back in, Mukuro appeared to be pointing out different people in the noisy cafeteria, ignoring most of the brawling going on, and waving with his hand to indicate who he was referring to.

"The albino with the fluffy little canary is Gilbert, Gilbert Beilschmidt. He claims he's Prussian, he's a troublemaker and a pervert, constantly proclaims his awesomeness, and loves beer and maple syrup. He's also got a younger brother he calls 'West', who visits every week and seems to be the mature one of the two. Gilbert's dangerous, though, if he gets serious. His sentence is only a month, but then he'll be transferred to the Hetalia Disciplinary Institute."

On cue, a red-eyed teen jumped up onto a table and tried to bash in a guy's head with his plate, cackling raucously.

"Kesesesese~!"

A shy, timid-looking blond with a curl and lavender eyes attempted to get him down.

"G-Gil, don't do that! Wh-what if they make you stay f-for longer? Oh, maple!"

"Who's that, shishou?" Fran inquired, adopting the title that the pineapple-fairy had insisted she call him.

Mukuro seemed pleased enough that she'd stopped with the 'pineapple-fairy', and obliged, craning his neck slightly to see, squinting.

"Oh, him? I think his name is Matthew or something. Canadian, the bleeding heart kind, and really quiet. He's getting transferred to Hetalia, too. Doesn't usually curse, and loves pancakes and maple syrup and hockey. The reason he's in here in the first place is because he has some sort of split personality that shows up whenever he plays or watches hockey or gets terribly angry, and he sent 7 guys to the hospital on his last 'rampage'. He and Gilbert and this one other guy are really close. Gilbert always calls him his 'Birdie'. Lovino Vargas was the third member of their little trio; he was a real piece of work, cursing up a storm red-faced and steaming, picking fights and running away from everything. Anger issues, see? Got transferred to Hetalia just last week, to board with his little brother Feliciano. Feliciano's also got a split personality, something about a 2P, but that's all I know."

. . .

He shrugged and moved on, both literally and figuratively, as the line crawled forward and one of the lunch-servers ungraciously dumped a spoonful of… soggy bread and limp lettuce and pock-marked tomato onto his plate.

Fran stared blankly at her own portion and kept walking to the next station, making a mental note to steal more food to sneak in next time she got landed in here.

Because let's face it, she's _going_ to be landed back in here.

A blue-haired, fairly androgynous girl was pointed out next.

Being a fairly androgynous girl herself, Fran had long ago figured out how to distinguish between androgynous boys and androgynous girls.

Not that she ever had many people to practice her skill on in Fayer.

The girl was dressed in a uniform, and seemed to be keeping watch over the other juvie members.

"That's Naoto Shirogane," Mukuro started off. "The real serious and focused and intelligent kind. She's the kid of one of the staff, and is always reading detective novels. She doesn't talk to anyone much, except to state that she wants to be the greatest detective possible. Always cross-dresses, too, and likes to pretend to be a boy for some reason. Respect was what she said, I think Anyway, her parents corrected that misinformation a few months ago, over the loudspeaker. She's training to be a guard soon, and rumor has it that she'll be moving to a special investigation squad program for rookies pretty soon."

. . .

Next, a loud and orange-haired teen was gestured at.

He seemed to be arguing with a teddy bear.

"Ichigo Kurosaki. He's here for loitering, general public nuisance, minor harassment, and possible delusions of reality, seeing as he's convinced that his stuffed lion-bear-thing is possessed by an evil twin he calls Kon. I hear he's moving to the B.L.E.A.C.H. Facility for Rehabilitation in a week."

Then a black-haired and blue-eyed pale boy was pointed out; he turned his head to look at them briefly, with intense concentration, and then turned away again, his pointed ears in full view.

"And Rin Okumura. There's a betting pool going on about whether or not he's fully human. You should see his canine teeth sometimes; they're as sharp as Ken's. Rin's a bit violent, but if you don't provoke him he'll ignore you. Studious, with a brother he calls Yukio. He's being sent to True Cross Academy tomorrow. Everyone else here are mindless thugs and crude idiots not worth my breath to explain about," Mukuro finished off casually.

Fran didn't raise an eyebrow physically, but it was somehow implied in the deadpan expression she gave him, even as she accepted a mysterious slab of cold meat and a pudding cup, and moved out of the line to follow him to his table.

. . .

"What about your so-called 'underlings, shishou? Who's Ken?"

Another wave of the hand.

"Oya, oya, well naturally _they_ aren't included in the 'everyone'. 'Everyone' is so… _mainstream_. They belong to _me_, so of _course_ they're automatically above the 'everyone' I stated. Even if sometimes they don't act like it."

The last part was mumbled with disgruntlement, but the pineapple-fairy's facial features soon smoothed out into a pleasant smile as they drew closer to a table in the corner of the cafeteria; a table that had empty seats surrounding it, and which even the rowdiest kids seemed to avoid.

(Still, upon hearing the pineapple-fairy say 'mainstream', Fran couldn't prevent the plague of mental imagery that suddenly bombarded her, consisting of a certain pineapple-fairy dressed in hipster clothes.)

A girl with her red hair in a bob was flipping through a stack of bills while talking animatedly to a black-haired boy wearing a white hat, who dutifully ignored her and kept cleaning his glasses. On his other side sat a blond boy with a light scar slashed across his face, tapping elongated talon-nails against his side and kept whining at 'Kakipi' to respond.

They all clammed up as soon as Mukuro took a seat imperiously, and gazed oddly at Fran, who had placed herself a few feet away from her 'master'.

. . .

"Who're _you?_" the redhead snapped impatiently, and none too kindly, either.

Fran stared placidly at her, unnervingly never blinking, while simultaneously poking and prodding experimentally at the squishy goop that Kokuyo was attempting to pass off as 'edible food'.

"I'm Fran, and I know that _you're_ an easily irritated and jealous miser," she droned blandly, giving up on her plate and simply uncovering her pudding.

Hmm.

Vanilla swirl.

Yum.

The redhead flushed a furious shade of crimson, her eyes glittering feverishly with instant hatred.

"Sh-shut _up_, you fucking bitch! How old are you, _anyway? _You don't know _anything_ about me!"

Before the tealette could 'helpfully' correct this misconception by psycho-analyzing her aggressive body language and dissect the emotions represented clearly in her face, Mukuro interrupted.

"Now, now, M.M.," he said patronizingly, "play nice with Fran, no? He's my new apprentice, after all."

There were shocked and over-dramatized gasps from both the redhead and the blond.

The black-haired teen just kinda blinked indifferently.

Fran piped up to interrupt his interruption.

"Actually, I'm a girl," she informed him blandly, licking up the last traces of pudding. "And to answer your question, I'm 12, 4 months, 22 days, and…"

A glance was stolen at the wall-mounted clock.

"... 10 hours, give or take a few minutes."

Mukuro looked mildly thrown off.

"Kufufufufu… really?"

"I'm fairly certain that I'm a girl and I'm twelve, yes," Fran confirmed, now reduced to tracing nonsense designs idly onto the surface of the table to stave off the impending boredom.

He frowned.

"That's rather young, though in comparison to us it's nothing. We're all around 14, and we've all been in Kokuyo for 4 years. I'm in Kokuyo for attempted and nearly successful murder, Chikusa's in Kokuyo for mugging and theft, Ken's in Kokuyo for accomplicing the muggings and participating in assault, and M.M.'s in Kokuyo for blackmail, theft, extortion, etc. What about you?"

Suddenly reminded of being under interrogation, Fran didn't let their focused attentions faze her.

She lazily picked at her cuticles as she answered in a monotone.

"Arson, defacement of public property, pickpocketing, skipping school. Mostly arson," she admitted freely.

A raised eyebrow.

"Oya, oya, that's a long list of offenses for a regular twelve-year-old. Got any parents?"

"Maybe I'm not regular, then. And no, my parents died in a freak fire in their office building, and my only other legal guardian was my grandmother. She… died in her sleep shortly before a fire burned down my house. So now I'm an orphan, and I moved to the Fayer Orphanage from Jura a year ago."

Fran's explanation was short and to the point, clipped and clinical.

The only spot where any flicker of emotion showed was when she hesitated minorly before finishing what had happened to her grandmother.

/Grand-mère… I wonder.../

After another period of heavy silence, Mukuro's gaze switched from 'assessing' back to what counted as 'normal' for him, his frown curling back into a smile.

"Good, good, my little apprentice. The blond's Ken, the hat-wearer is Chikusa, and the redhead's M.M. We can take up lessons in earnest next time, since your sentence right now is only 3 days. I can tell you'll be back here, anyway."

M.M. huffed and pouted sulkily, but didn't speak anymore.

Ken flashed her a tad vicious grin and returned to annoying his friend.

Chikusa didn't even look at her.

Nodding slowly, Fran threw the empty pudding cup into the trash can.

"What'll you be teaching me, anyway?"

Smug smile, secretive grin, bright red eye staring straight through her.

"How to lie, little one. How to lie and deceive and trick and mislead and distract… maybe even a few neat illusionary tricks if you're interested, good, and can slip in a pack of cards."

_Swish._

_Thunk._

… _Perfect hit._

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Filler here, and Fran meets the gang! M.M. and her eventually develop a sort of strange rivalry mentorship based on their thieving skills. She appreciates Chikusa, because he's quiet. And she just snarks at and pisses off Ken as much as possible to see his funny reactions (funny to her, at least). Not now, of course, because bonds take time to develop, and more so if you're a caustic little sarcastic tween like Fran. Meanwhile, I foresee many trident-toothpick stabbings in her future. Don't worry, Nagi/Chrome comes later.**_

_**#  
#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_


	4. Pseudo-Name

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**chrihstie**_'_, for your review. Nope, not Kyoya. Yup, just convenient things I learned in Science class. I do try to use more uncommonplace words. ;] I do like OCs, but this story won't have any. The different anime characters were just cameos, sadly, though they may make a reappearance later on for humor purposes. (Example: Gilbird vs. Hibird comparison.) And of course Byakuran will be here; I ship 10026, and while this story may be either 10026 or B26, I still like the idea of a 10026 friendship fluffy relationship. :]_

_Thank you,_ '**_idea. getthe_**',_ for your review. I hope it continues to be interesting to you, then. ;]_

_Thank you, '__**DGtnsl**_'_, for your review. I originally meant for those people to be humor-cameos and shout-out references, but do you really want to see updates on them? Like, have them brought up in conversation again? I could probably fit that in somewhere. Are there any new characters you want to see mentioned in cameos? No OCs, though. :]_

**Disclaimer:**

_I don't own KHR! or the cover picture._

* * *

"This pudding is really good," Fran remarked tonelessly, sliding into what was now becoming her 'usual spot' at their table, with an armful of pudding cups all piled up.

A pause.

"Really, _really_ good."

M.M. frowned at the younger tealette, scrunching up her nose in distaste.

"Ugh, you're back here _again?_ Why don't you just run off to be a good little girl and stop bothering Mukuro-sama all the time? It's not worth _money_ to deal with you," the redhead said, polishing her clarinet that she'd newly 'liberated' from one of the guards.

Shrugging placidly, Fran continued systematically cleaning out her prized pudding, and answered the older girl's indirect questions.

"Apparently it's highly illegal to make a bonfire in the Fayer alleyways, even if the hobos probably appreciated it. Because it's fun, why else? Your poor attempts at seducing the pineapple-fairy aren't working, anyway, which is rich, considering your obsession with wealth. And 'dealing' with me is quite easy, as I've told you before; just hand over the pudding and no one gets burned."

Huffing, M.M. moodily stomped off to beat up some of the people in the 'recess area' for stress relief.

And another trident-toothpick stab.

What a shame.

The skin on the back of her hands had finished healing only yesterday.

Not bothering to remove it, she sighed resignedly, and then responded in an apathetic voice.

"What was that for, shishou?" she whine-droned, eyeing the clear bottom of a pudding cup, before tossing it into the rapidly accumulating pile of empty ones.

Mukuro, who had been sitting to her right and reading a letter, smiled menacingly at his apprentice.

"Kufufufufu… How many times have I told you to _not call me by __**that **__name_, little one? Also, for the horrible pun. Don't think that I missed the whole 'poor' and 'rich' inserts. Why _do_ you enjoy that pudding so much, anyway? I'm beginning to believe that you purposely come to Kokuyo just for plundering the kitchen's supply of it. Oh, and Ken and Chikusa are off brawling with a few upstarts, so they won't be here for lunch today."

That last line was added for the simple purpose of clarifying the matter of the unfilled seats aloud, and not because Fran had inquired.

They both knew she couldn't care less.

After having 'apprenticed' with Mukuro for three years, the group had established a certain status quo.

M.M. would try and provoke Fran, Fran would snark back.

Ken pretty much ignored the tealette in favor of bothering the more volatile redhead and his ever-calm best friend.

Said 'ever-calm best friend' Chikusa remained more or less indifferent, and Fran would sometimes seek him out for peace and quiet and relative sanity amid the chaos of Kokuyo.

And Mukuro just stabbed her often, while she persisted in referring to him as the pineapple-fairy; she (mostly) titled him as 'shishou' to his face, however.

She liked interesting reactions; she was _not_ a masochist.

(Not that she knew of, anyway.

Spending too much time in Kokuyo tends to chip away at your sanity.

Though if you got in Kokuyo in the first place, you probably didn't have much sanity anyway.

Even Chikusa, the calm, stoic Chikusa, apparently delighted in finding new plants to mix into his specially handcrafted poisons.)

"Approximately 6,918 times, shishou," Fran recited, giving what could be interpreted as a mournful glance to the last of her pudding cups. "And no, of course I would never favor the delicious sugary goodness of heavenly pudding over the strange and unusual tortuous lessons you force me to go through."

He glared at her, struggling to keep his increasingly forced smile steady.

"_Anyway_… you're, what, 15 now? Oya, oya, and this is your 26th visit in three years. How long's the sentence this time around, little one?"

She ticked off the numbers on her fingers.

"A week for destruction of public property, three days for encouraging loitering, and another week for disruptment of the peace. Is that long enough for me to move up to Intermediate Lying studies, shishou?"

"Depends. How have you progressed in your other studies?"

"I can control my heartbeat to a satisfactory extent now, so that's one method of lie detection foiled. Blushing and crying at will is harder, as is faking emotions. For some reason, I can't make a seamless transition, or make them look real enough to fool any passerby."

Mukuro sighed, sounding disappointed, and shook his head patronizingly.

"That's because you are naturally so unflappable. It's rather annoying, really. Ah, well, at least you've got the 'impassive mask' mastered. Have we gone into changing voice pitch and projecting voices yet, little one?"

"I'm not that little anymore, shishou," Fran corrected blandly. "And no, we haven't. You also promised, last time, to teach me how to fake deaths, hide a body, and strategizing tactics. We finished intermediate optical illusions' practical and theory, and we're halfway through intermediate card tricks and sleight of hand."

"You'll always be little to me, little one, and 5'3'' isn't terribly impressive in stature when compared to my own of 5'11''," he retorted with more than a touch of smugness.

Humming thoughtfully, Mukuro next tapped a trident-toothpick against the tabletop rhythmically.

Then he stopped to snap his fingers, eyes lighting up with decision.

"Alright, we'll go through some theory first, and you can practice in afternoon classes. It's just more moral behavior propaganda, anyway. First things first in faking your own death: learn to hold your breath and go into a self-induced trance-like state. That's done by slowing down your heartbeat as much as possible, and similarly limiting your oxygen intake as much as possible. Do you remember the 'mindscape visualization' technique we went over a few months ago? Trances are different from sorting and suppressing and deleting memories, however, because…"

It was a productive first day back for Fran.

. . .

Chrome was nervous.

Very, very nervous.

Oh, what would her mother say when she found out that her daughter had been put in Kokuyo?

What would her _father_ say?

Her thin shoulders slumped subconsciously in dejection.

She already knew what they would say, because they'd already found out.

And she clearly recalled what their reactions had been.

'_That's no daughter of mine.'_ Disgust, dismissal. Her movie star mother, barely stopping by before jetting off again, finally free from an unwanted burden.

'_I have no connections with her; do with her what you will.'_ Cold, scorn. Her businessman father, only following cursory mandations before leaving yet again, finally free from an illegitimate child.

/But I didn't **mean** to cause that driver to crash; the cat was just on the road and I wanted to save it, I never saw the truck coming or heard the truck swerve, and that tree was just **there** and-/

A warm hand gently rested on her arm, soothing her fretting and automatically calming her down.

"Oya, oya, my dear sister, don't start hyperventilating before you even _meet_ them. They'll be nice; just tell me if they aren't, okay? Kufufufufu… If _anyone_ bothers you, actually, come tell me, and I'll _deal_ with them."

Looking up with trusting, vulnerable violet eyes, one of them covered with a skull-embossed eyepatch, Nagi met the reassuring gaze of her favorite 'relation'.

"Y-Yes, Mukuro-nii," she stuttered out, blushing heavily at the physical contact, and tightening her grip around the handful of purple trident-toothpicks he'd gifted to her.

Mukuro had been truly a godsend.

They'd regularly corresponded, ever since she'd ran into him at her neighborhood park 8 years ago.

. . .

_Chrome had been 8 at the time, a neglected and underfed waif called Nagi, who jumped at every noise and cowered at every movement and could only speak in timid, shivery whispers._

_He'd just turned 9, and had been on the run for 3 years, a callous and selfish child, dedicated to the sole purpose of ensuring his survival._

_That didn't mean he was entirely heartless, however._

_Upon seeing the doll-like little girl curled up at the base of an oak tree, staring at the joyfully giggling kids with lonely and haunted eyes, he'd taken pity on her and had approached her._

_A conversation had been sparked and carefully nurtured, and slowly but surely, the girl had been coaxed somewhat out of her shell._

_She evidently had faith in him, and visited his temporary hideout various times over the next month, each time bringing offerings of food, with that same tremblingly insecure expression._

_For some reason, Mukuro let her stay, and accepted the food, though by all means he should've skedaddled out of town ages ago._

_When his leave could be postponed no longer, and he had stated such to her, she'd looked positively_ _**crushed**__, before venturing forth with a proposal._

"_C-could we m-maybe… s-stay in touch?" she asked, twiddling her fingers and blushing adorably, refusing to look him in the eye. "L-Like… w-write letters to each o-other? Only i-if you w-want to, o-of course."_

_It would be inconvenient, but not impossible, and for his ward (__**ward**__, not __**friend**__, because Mukuro didn't have __**friends**__, and this puny, pathetic little girl wasn't of much use as an __**ally**__, at least not __**yet**_…_) that inconvenience would be worth it._

"_But of course," he'd answered with a charming wink and a suave smile, inciting a fiercer blush that made her porcelain skin almost glow. "I'd love to exchange letters with you, my dear Nagi. However, using your real name might be a little risky, in case someone ever intercepts our letters and needs leverage against me, or you. Kufufufufu… How about we use pseudonyms?"_

"_P-pseudonyms?"_

_Nagi had been elated and giddy that her new and only friend had agreed to stay in touch, but at the mention of an unfamiliar word, she had tilted her head in confusion and gnawed on her lip in thought, practically projecting vibes similar to a helpless baby puppy breathing out rainbows and flowers and sunshiney glitter._

"_False names. My name, I can keep, as they'll have a hard time pinning me down, anyway. But for you… does 'Chrome Dokuro' sound okay?"_

"_Ch-Chrome? Dok-Dokuro?"_

"_Kufufufufu… Yes. Mukuro Rokudo, sectioned into syllables, then rearranged a bit. Kuromu Dokuro, or 'Chrome Dokuro'. Oya, oya, we should probably come up with a fitting relationship that will require letters, too."_

"_I-Is it o-okay if I pretend you are a f-family relation?" she quivered hopefully with wide, pleading eyes. _

_Mukuro knew that her real family was absolutely horrible, and understood what she was really asking._

'_Can you be the family I never had? Will you protect me and promise not to leave me like __**them?**_'

_His eyes softened minutely, as they only ever did for Nagi._

"_Of course."_

. . .

Chrome had been quite shy about the actual relation term, and had originally wanted to dub him a distant cousin and call him 'Mukuro-sama'.

Mukuro had been quite adamant about the actual relation term, and had insisted on being her older brother and called 'Mukuro-nii'.

She'd protested, but then he'd put on a mock saddened expression, and had questioned if she didn't like him enough to want to be closer.

Trapped, Chrome had caved, and agreed.

The letters had continued, even after Mukuro was admitted to Kokuyo.

When she heard that she had been sentenced to a possible life sentence in Kokuyo for reckless endangerment and being a public safety hazard, the first thing she'd done was include it in her next letter and express-ship it, dried tearstains visible on the stress-wrinkled paper.

And once she'd stepped foot into the menacing building, her beloved 'Mukuro-nii' had swooped down and whisked her away like a knight in shining green armor (armed with a trident instead of a lance), helpfully explaining everything she needed to know about Kokuyo.

Now they were on their way to lunch, to meet his "underlings".

(Chrome had asked if that meant they were his friends, and Mukuro-nii had simply smiled beatifically, and said, "Whatever you'd like to think, my dear Chrome.")

The lunchroom was loud and chaotic, but Mukuro solved that by climbing on top of a table and stomping on it.

Everyone quieted and stared at him with something akin to respect and fear in their eyes.

He smiled ominously at them all, one arm slung around his 'sister'.

"This," he pronounced precisely, pointing to Chrome, "is my younger sister. If any of you cause trouble for her, you'll find some trouble coming to _you_."

It was delivered with a sharply defined smile, all jagged edges and pearly teeth.

Then he climbed down and the chaos resumed, albeit with a more subdued attitude.

Chrome looked at him with bewilderment, oblivious to what had transpired except for the fact that her 'brother' had said something on top of a table.

"Kufufufufu… Don't worry about a thing, dear Chrome," he shook his head, his smile soft and fond once more.

Mukuro steered her towards a table in the corner, heading for a glimpse of teal, red, blond, and white-black.

Staring at their destination with apprehension, the violet-haired girl barely registered his next words.

"Hey, underlings. Meet Chrome Dokuro, my sister."

The tealette twisted halfway to view them, an opened pudding cup in her hand.

"Did you clone yourself, shishou? Or is someone really unfortunate enough to be related to you by blood?"

Chrome 'eeped' and nearly fainted.

She wasn't sure of many things, but she was definitely sure that her blush at that moment could've rivaled the sun in intensity.

Someone poked at her.

"The clone-pineapple seems to be malfunctioning, shishou. Wow, did you break her already? Tsk, tsk, tsk. How irresponsible of you."

"Shut _up_, _little one_," was hissed through gritted teeth, and followed up with several trident-toothpick stabs.

. . .

**Omake:**

"Oya, oya, little one; you're 15, are you not?"

"Yes, shishou. I would've thought that you were literate enough to read a calendar. Sadly, my faith seems to have been sorely misplaced."

"Kufufufufu… I'd be quiet if I were you. Anyway, why haven't you changed at all?"

"What do you mean, shishou? I've grown two and a half inches, my hair is now shoulder-length, and I have gotten minorly fitter under your torture, eh, tutelage."

It was all true.

Compared to the frail, baby-faced and gangly tween who'd first met Mukuro at 12, Fran had grown up.

With the new spurt of height and the newly trimmed fat, as well as the lean muscles slowly but surely accumulating as a result of all of her running (to escape and to flee lessons, most commonly), the tealette's limbs had finally proportioned out nicely.

Now, she was slender and pale, steady-footed if not graceful just yet, and if she wore tight-fitting clothes, there were enough slim, barely-there curves to suggest a female gender.

Loosely-clothed, she was still terribly androgynous and a veritable nightmare to categorize at first glance.

(M.M. sometimes mocked her for her chest, or rather her lack of one, but Fran never rose to the bait.

Being an A-cup was much more convenient, since wrapped bandages worked well as bindings, and seeing people's reactions to trying to ask what gender she was without offending her was highly amusing.

The bandages could also serve as extra protection when taking hits in a fight; every little bit counts when it's between life and death. Or just wound or no wound.

And her cousin's curious preference for dressing in unisex clothes was no longer so curious.)

"I mean personality-wise."

"Well of course my personality has gotten wiser."

"Not _that_, you idiot. I mean, haven't you gone through puberty yet? And don't give me any of that spiel about how you have no idea what it is; knowing you, you've already gone through all the books in the library about human development."

Fran stared blankly at him.

"Of course, _master_. Would you rather I be a mess of emotions and tears and complaining about silly teenage crushes? Very well, I can oblige you that whim. How about this?

"You are very attractive in that pretty-boy bishonen kind of way, _Mukuro-kun_. Shall we copulate recklessly and have many screeching children who will inevitably bankrupt us shortly after we get a hasty marriage and a hastier divorce?

"M.M. could be the wicked stepmother, and Chikusa could be the butler secretly planning to poison us all and make off with the inheritance from our wills. Ken would make a decent family dog, I suppose, if a bit feral and needing to be taken to obedience classes.

"Come, now let us go off into the sunset on a flea-ridden old nag and plan out an expensive frilly wedding with pink and pastels and petunias everywhere. Oh, and the pudding. Can't forget the pudding.

"... So how was that?"

There was a silence.

"Yeah, no, let's just forget this conversation ever happened," Mukuro quickly amended, turning back to sorting out his trident-toothpicks with a mildly traumatized look on his face.

"About as well said as can be expected of you, shishou," Fran agreed placidly, picking up her 'Connoisseur's Guide to Pudding' again.

Another silence.

"Kufufufufu… I know I'm going to regret asking this, but that _was_ a joke, right? And how do you manage to act so normal if you truly _do_ have the hormones of every other average teen?"

"Naturally it was not an expression meant to be taken literally, shishou, as anyone with uncommon sense could figure out within seconds. As for the hormones… hormone killers, duh. Chikusa was very helpful in supplying me with some."

"Wait, so Chikusa also…?"

"Keep _up_, shishou, won't you? We've already been over this."

. . .

**Omake:**

"Uniforms?"

Mukuro looked up at the sound of Fran's voice, to find the 12-year-old tealette holding up a blouse and skirt in a familiar shade of forest-green.

"They're mandatory," he confirmed, sorting out his trident-toothpicks by color. "They probably let you get away with no uniform on your last stay, since it was your first sentence and it was also only a 3-day sentence. 3-day sentences don't require uniforms, since it'd be a waste of resources to wash and reassign them. Newbies typically get their first stay as a sort of 'introduction' stay, but after that you have to adhere to the rules, or else they take away privileges. Not that there's a lot of rules, or a lot of privileges…"

Appearing to be blank-faced, Fran examined the girl's uniform that had been delivered to her given dorm room overnight.

The top was high-collared and cut off before the waist, baring the midriff. Black lines traced out a simple design down the front, with smooth copper buttons lining the insides of the design. A few centimeters from the wrists were where the sleeves stopped, and two black lines circled the ends of the sleeves decoratively. She found the color to be acceptable, and the material to be thick and sturdy, much like a thinned flak jacket's cloth.

It's matching pleated miniskirt was far too short for her liking; it ended at barely mid-thigh, though on her skinny prepubescent form, it was more like nearly to her knees. A brown faux-leather belt with steel buckles accompanied it, which didn't seem like a good idea, considering that it was like handing a possible garroting rope to a building full of future (or present) thugs and killers.

In fact, the entire thing didn't seem like a good idea to her.

"Yeah, okay, I am _so_ not going to wear this," she decided, folding up the garments.

Her 'master' glanced at her again.

"You don't have a choice, you know," he reminded.

When she continued to look severely unimpressed, he tacked on, "Pudding is a privilege, too."

Now _that_ caused her to reconsider a little.

"Still," Fran frowned, "I _can't_ wear that. What are they _thinking?_ I may be more sensitive to the cold than other people, but anyone would get sick if they wandered around the building in _winter_ wearing only _that_. Kokuyo's heating is _always_ off, except in the teacher's lounges."

She shot a faintly accusing look at the ponytailed teen's outfit. "Besides, _your_ uniform has actual _pockets_. Which, by the way, is a safety hazard and a likely smuggling aid."

A lazy shrug was her only answer.

Then, as Fran turned to walk off with the bundles of clothes, Mukuro called out questioningly.

"Where are you going? What about the uniforms?"

Waving dismissively behind her, she responded without looking back, "To request a uniform change. We just have to wear _a_ uniform, not our _gender's-specific _uniform. While W.W. may prefer to prance around in clothes like these, I'd rather stay warm, thank you very much. Oh, and eat my pudding."

And that's how Fran ended up wearing the boys' Kokuyo uniform, further increasing her ambiguous outwards appearance in terms of gender.

(M.M. was simply angry that Fran had muddled up her name into 'W.W' yet again.)

. . .

**Stats As of Now:**

_Name:_ Frances Amarante Brume ("Fran" A. ["Everlasting Flower"] "Mist")

_Titles:_

-Mukuro's Apprentice

-"Little One"

-Kokuyo Gang Member (for 3 years)

-Pyromaniac/Arsonist

-Pickpocket/Thief

_Gender:_ Female

_Age:_ 15

_Status:_ Unfortunately (in the eyes of the public majority) alive and well, slogging through a relatively cushy life at Fayer and Kokuyo

_Birthday:_ December 21st (Winter Solstice)

_Zodiac:_ Sagittarius

_Weapons/Abilities:_

-Matches/Lighters

-Skill of Theft

-Acting/Lying Skills from Mukuro

_Blood Type:_ A (has the thickest blood volume)

_Height:_ 5'3''

_Weight:_ 111 lbs

_Family:_

-Mother - - - - [Deceased]

-Father - - - - [Deceased]

-Grandmother - - - - [Deceased]

_Crimes:_

-Arson

-Theft

-Disruptment of the Public Peace

-Defacing Public Property

-Inciting Riots

_History:_ Both parents died in a freak fire breaking out at their office building, shortly after she turned 1. She was handed off to her grandmother, who died in her sleep a few hours before their house burned down [secretly because of Fran]. Then she was shipped off to the Fayer Orphanage at 11, and has been terrorizing the town of Fayer ever since, in between her bouts at the Kokuyo Juvenile Detention Center.

_Quirks:_

-Dislikes the cold

-Loves pudding

-Thick skin (literally)

-Difficult to bleed

-Dulled reactions to pain

-Near-photographic memory

_Warning Tags:_

-Extremely Blunt and Caustic

-Prone to provoking others for amusement, or setting things on fire to quell boredom

-Best left alone with a mountain of pudding and some puzzles

_Sense of Humor:_ Mordant

. . .

_Name:_ Mukuro Rokudo

_Titles:_

-Fran's Master

-"Pineapple-Fairy"

-Kokuyo Gang Boss (and member for 7 years)

-Attempted Murderer

-Former 'Street Rat'

_Gender:_ Male

_Age:_ 17

_Status:_ Unfortunately (in the eyes of the public majority) alive and well, slogging through a relatively boring life at Kokuyo on a life sentence.

_Birthday:_ June 9th

_Zodiac:_ Gemini

_Weapons/Abilities:_

-Plastic Trident-shaped Toothpicks

-Acting/Lying Skills

-'Magician' Skills (street tricks such as optical illusions, card tricks, sleight of hand, etc.)

_Blood Type:_ O

_Height:_ 5'11''

_Weight:_ 140 lbs

_Family:_

-Mother - - - - [Presumed Deceased]

-Father - - - - [Presumed Deceased]

_Crimes:_

-Attempted Murder

-Various unnamed and unproved crimes committed on the run

_History:_ Parents unknown, grew up in the Oenartse Orphanage and ran away at 6. Lived on the streets and on the run, educating himself the best he could, until he was caught nearly murdering a corrupt orphanage director a town over from Kokuyo. Was convicted to the Kokuyo Juvenile Detention Center at 10 for a life sentence, where he met M.M. and Ken and Chikusa, forming the 'Kokuyo Gang'. He quickly rose through the ranks at Kokuyo, and is currently the 'Boss' of the unspoken and silently acknowledged Kokuyo hierarchy.

_Quirks:_

-Dislikes being called a 'pineapple'

-Loves stabbing people

-Heterochromatic eyes

-Eye tattoo of the Japanese/Chinese character for 'six' (from his time as a 'street rat', because he ran away at 6)

-Homicidal

-Enjoys ordering around his underlings

_Warning Tags:_

-Extremely Manipulative and Not To Be Trusted

-Prone to provoking others for amusement, or stabbing underlings to quell boredom

-Best left alone with proper scheming materials (a.k.a. blueprints, pencils, a book on historical prison breakouts)

_Sense of Humor:_ Morbid

* * *

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_**If any you guys also read 'Replacement' and are waiting for the next chapter, here's a notice: I won't update it until spring break, most likely.**_

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_**~Please Review. Surely such a long chapter deserves a few reviews, right?~ :]**_


	5. Mistaken Ident-, er, Gender

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '**Skylarks and Skulls**', for your review. Someday is now to-day, if you'd pardon the horrible pun. :] Fran and Chrome interaction has arrived! (I kinda want to do a little omake later, about Chrome having a crush on Fran when she wakes up, and then getting all conflicted when she's told that Fran's a girl. Would it end up too angsty? Too fluffy might just brush it off...) And yes, if you ship 6996, be forewarned of Fran making many insinuations of that kind, with more than a few comments about incest. Which is not really incest, since they aren't really related. Not-really-incest-incest, then? Probably a few remarks bout Mukuro having a narcissistic streak, too, seeing as Chrome's hairstyle resembles his so much. Ah, Fran. KHR!'s biggest c*ckblock, and biggest matchmaker. _

_Thank you, '**DG****tnsl**', for your review. And I hope you continue to enjoy both the needling and the fic. ;]_

**Disclaimer:**

_I don't own KHR! or the cover picture._

* * *

The first thing Chrome sees when she wakes up is a pair of blank teal eyes staring a little too close for comfort.

"U-Um, d-do you m-mind moving your f-face farther away?" she squeaks out timidly, her only visible eye widened with fear.

An odd look is given to her, but the owner of the teal eyes obliges and scooches back until they were no longer a few centimeters away from her nose; a bored teal-haired teen is revealed, around her age, in a boy's Kokuyo uniform.

A cup of pudding is in 'his' hands, which 'he' continues to calmly eat, even as Chrome glances around her, disoriented.

The lunchroom was empty around them, and they were both seated at one of the corner tables.

Her trident-toothpicks that her 'brother' had gifted her were still clutched tightly in her hands, like a lifeline, leaving small indentations in her palms that soon faded back to it's usual pallor.

She'd apparently been sleeping while sitting, her head cradled between her crossed arms on the table, face to one side.

The other teen was seated directly opposite her, with a pile of pudding cups on one side, and a stack of empty pudding cups on the other side.

(By the rate at which 'he' was currently devouring the pudding, Chrome theorized that 'he' had been there for a while.)

'He' offered no explanation, and didn't appear to be in the mood to start a conversation.

So, with no other choice, she gulped down her nervousness (most of it, anyway) and ventured forth with her questions.

"W-Who are you? Where's M-Mukuro-nii?" she bit her lower lip, resisting the urge to tremble, and unconsciously upping her 'adorable little helpless puppy' rate by 100.26%.

'His' eyebrow arched elegantly in silent contemplation, before 'he' briefly paused in his serious pudding eating to lean forwards again, peering with a narrowed gaze at her frightened expression.

"... Are you sure that you're the pineapple fairy's little sister? I mean, I suppose that your hair matches up, and either you somehow found the same brand of toothpicks or the pineapple fairy gave you the ones in your hand, but you two just seem so… unrelated," 'he' inquired flatly, with a touch of dubiousness that Chrome quickly picked up on.

Indignant, and temporarily forgetting her social anxiety, the violet-haired girl straightened her back and instantly defended both her 'brother' and herself.

"Don't call Mukuro-nii a pineapple-fairy! He hates it when someone compares his hair to a pineapple! Which it looks nothing like, by the way! And what's so strange about us being related!? Mukuro-nii's really nice and kind and polite and considerate!"

Chrome stayed like that for a moment, all blood 'n vinegar and righteous rage, her eyes, er, eye alight with a shining inner determination.

Then she squeaked again and shrank back down, timid once more, blushing hotly with embarrassment and refusing to look 'him' in the eye.

There was a short silence.

'He' withdrew as well, and began to finish off 'his' pudding.

"You really believe that, huh? Ah, well, I won't burst your little bubble, then. Though I suppose that now I can tell what shishou sees in you. He wouldn't spend that much time and attention on a person without a good, solid, and probably selfish reason behind it. No need to blow up at me for that statement, because that's all it is; a statement. You're a tad too blinded by hero-worship to see it just yet, however…" 'he' trailed off, before lifting up one shoulder in a limpid, unethusiastic shrug.

"Sh-Shishou?"

'His' face turned towards her, and Chrome plucked up enough courage to glance at 'him', instead of hiding her face entirely.

"Yes, shishou. According to him it's Japanese for 'master', though why he'd want a Japanese title when he's a probably-full-blooded Italian, I haven't a clue. I'm his apprentice, see? And just to answer your unspoken question, you fainted after he brought you over to our table, and I was designated to be your guide. Right now it's around 9 at night, which means the end of 'free time' and the start of curfew, which means we'd better hurry. If you faint, I'm leaving you behind, by the way. C'mon, we'll be sharing a dorm room, I think."

She stared at 'him' in astonishment, even as 'he' stood up and swept all of the empty pudding cups into the nearby trash can with an effortless swipe.

(And all of 'his' pudding cups were empty, since 'he' had been eating even during Chrome's uncharacteristic outburst. Equal opportunity, right? Mukuro was what 'he' considered an equal opportunity sadist and general mindfucker, after all.)

"B-But I thought the dorms were g-gender segregated?" Chrome stammered, shocked, even as she automatically stood up herself, ready to follow.

'He' quirked 'his' eyebrow upwards, the first flicker of emotion 'he' had shown since she'd woken up.

"They are," 'he' drawls.

'His' tone is faintly mocking and holding just a tinge of amusement, when 'he' continues with a full-body gesture at 'himself', "I'm a girl, pineapple-fairy 2.0. What, couldn't you tell? You wound me, you truly do."

This was, apparently, too much for the poor newbie's mental stability, as she promptly choked out an, "E-EH!?", before toppling backwards in a dead faint.

Thankfully, the tealette had accounted for that being a possibility, and had outstretched an arm, just in time to catch the fainted girl's rather light body.

Fran poked Chrome's cheek, and when she garnered no reaction, sighed.

Slinging the eye-patch-wearing teen across her back, Fran was suddenly grateful for how little body mass Chrome had.

Still, it was a long way to their dorm.

And then up the stairs to their dorm room.

Oh, the _stairs_…

"I didn't even get the chance to tell her what my name was. Pineapple-fairy's gonna be mad. Well, that makes me feel a bit better. Annoying him usually yields an interesting outcome. Should I start calling pineapple-fairy 2.0 pineapple-pirate instead? Nah, pineapple-fairy would get angrier if I call her pineapple-fairy 2.0. I just hope she doesn't keep fainting like this. Otherwise, it's going to be a _long_ sentence this time around…"

_(For all her droning grumblings and monotone whines, Fran was glad that Chrome had joined them. The innocent types were always so interesting to prod at until they gave an amusing response. Her little outburst earlier, for example. Touchy spot? _

_She seemed far too innocent for 'delinquent' life, but that was fine, because Kokuyo wasn't too bad, and Mukuro reigned over Kokuyo, anyway._

_And then on Fran's next sentence/visit, Mukuro wasn't there anymore._

'_He turned 18,' Chikusa reminds her, sitting quietly in the garden and words stilted._

'_He left Kokuyo,' Ken admits bitterly, confused and alone and looking terribly lost._

'_He killed people,' M.M. breathes hollowly, grip on Fran's jacket tight and eyes empty with wilting disbelief._

'_H-He… Mukuro-nii was sent to __**Vindice!**_' _Chrome wails hysterically, throwing her thin arms around the tealette and freely sobbing into her still chest._

_That horrible, ugly, nasty word kept repeating, like a broken tape forever on rewind-then-replay._

_**Vindice.**_

_**Vindice Penitentiary.**_

_**Vin. Dice. Pen. Iten. Tiar. Y.**_

'_Where Mukuro always laughed at, where the worst of the worst were sent, where nearly __**no one**_ _ever returns.'_

_['Unless...'_

'_Unless?' she remembers asking._

_Shishou's answer is accompanied by a flash of sharp teeth too feral to be called a smile._

_His answer stays with her forever._

'_Unless you're willing to sell your very soul to make a deal with the prison guards. Because making a deal with the __**Vindice**_ _is the same as eternal damnation, am I clear?'_

_She nods, sobered by the gravity in his tone._

'_Yes. Clear.']_

_Fran recalls that particular memory, as she stands there limply and lets Chrome weep into her clean new clothes._

_After a second, she bows her head until teal and violet intermingle._

_They don't need to say anything else._

_And soon, Chikusa and Ken and M.M. come over as well, and they all bow their heads._

_To think?_

_To pray?_

_Well, do you __**think**_ _that __**praying**_ _would help __**Mukuro**_ _in __**Vindice**__?)_

* * *

**Omake [Warning: A lot of useless pudding trivia ahead, peppered with occasional spots of dry sarcasm and half-decent sardonic wit. Ice will not be provided for the metaphorical burn, as the metaphorical burn will probably end up being more like a metaphorical singe. Also, a few references that aren't important, but are worth cracking a reluctant smile if you get them. Very much AU.]:**

"Hello, and welcome to 'Pudding Talk', hosted by the world-famous pudding connoisseur, chef, and critic, Frances Amarante Brume," _intones a neutral voice, soothing and peaceful._

_The camera zooms in, focusing on a tealette woman around 26 years of age, dressed in a casual woolly gray sweater, dark jeggings, and white boots, two apple-clips holding back her bangs and a small black frog-charm hanging around her neck by a thin silver chain._

_She is seated at a modern kitchen counter, perched on a high-up swivelling stool like an exotic bird, flipping lazily through a large book._

_Teal eyes look up, directly into the camera, and she slams the book shut._

"As always, Vi, remember that I prefer Fran," _she drawls, detached and unreadable. _"Or Connoisseur Fran, if you must give me a title. True, I've dabbled in some cooking and reviewing before, but that all stemmed from my first and true passion."

_There is a brief pause for dramatics, and a spark of intense fervor ignites in her formerly dull and muted gaze. _

"Pudding."

_The spark dies down gradually, waning until she is once again impassive and paging through the book, no longer glancing at the camera._

"There are many different varieties of the wonderful recipe that is defined as 'pudding'. Never let anyone tell you 'pudding' cannot be a meal. Those people are narrow-minded, ignorant fools, who shall never be able to revel in the true glory of a treat that is both heavenly and sinfully good. Much like you uneducated masses watching this right now are. But fear not, for I have taken it upon myself as my divinely bestowed duty, to enlighten you all about the truly fantastic types of 'pudding', as well as professionally given opinions by me. And in my professionally given opinion, if it isn't sweet, it isn't pudding. So yes, no matter what Wikipedia says, I will not accept haggis or pig blood sausage as pudding. And if that makes me a hypocrite… I'm a hypocrite, then."

_Zooming in once more, suddenly the screen has shifted to the large book. The left page holds a finely detailed example picture of the pudding, and the right page holds a finely detailed title and explanation about the pudding._

"Personally, I prefer Kulolo the most; it's a Hawaiian cake-like coconut pudding that tastes like caramel."

_Flip._

"Malvern pudding is in my top 5, too. Baked apples and custard, from the U.K."

_Flip._

"Of course, you can't go wrong with the simple classics, like vanilla or chocolate or butterscotch or one of the swirl variations."

_Flip._

"Bread pudding and banana pudding come from the U.K. as well. And yes, there's a actual bread and actual bananas in them. Lucky for me I have no food allergies. If _you_ do? … Well, sucks to be you, then."

_Flip._

"Chocolate biscuit pudding from Sri Lanka is worth flying there for. Hong Kong has some neat offers, too; coconut pudding and almond jelly are more gelatinous than the usual pudding you think of. Polynesia's haupia is coconut gelatin as well. Turkey's keşkül is based off of almond milk."

_Flip._

"Cottage pudding… it's _barely_ pudding, since it's just cake with vanilla custard, but I suppose the custard counts for something."

_Flip._

"Figgy duff pudding from Canada does not, contrary to the misleading name, contain figs of any sort. You have been warned. Flummery and frumenty from the U.K. may sound silly, but rest assured, pudding is a very serious topic. And they're very serious contenders. Though Goody from Ireland should really get a name change… Do you know how annoying it is when no one seems to understand what you're trying to order?

"Granted, it's trying to find an Ireland dish in Fayer, France, but it's still annoying and stirs up too many urges to burn down the store. Which would probably not be appreciated very much, and while I may find life to be boring far too often, that doesn't mean that I'm willing to die just yet. There's always pudding to live for, after all. And if it's an obsession, well, would you rather have a person with a pudding obsession, or a person with a knife and blood and royalty obsession? Yeah, I thought so."

_Flip._

"For breakfast, I'd recommend India's kheer. It's rice boiled with milk and sugar, and flavored with anything you'd like. Porridge-like pudding. I'd say it's also pudding-like porridge, if that didn't mean that I shouldn't have just mentioned it on 'Pudding Talk', and that I have to automatically dislike it for being a pudding imposter. Watch carefully, kids; this is what self-imposed and self-reinforced self-hypnotism looks like. Conscious subconscious denial of reality and twisting the meaning of truth. For a more detailed how-to guide, feel free to purchase a certain classic novel that starts with 19 and ends with 84."

_Flip._

"If in need of apricots or caramel, South Africa's Malvern pudding is what you're looking for. Unless it isn't, in which case Kokuyo Media Productions is not liable for any misrepresentation or advertising effects, subtle or blatant."

_Flip._

"When in Italy, do as Italians do. Which means if you ever get tired of ice cream and gelato, there's always panna cotta to eat. Panna cotta literally means 'cooked cream', and is usually served chilled with fruit or spices. Thus bringing up the crucial question: if it's cooked, and you chill it, isn't that the same as ice cream? Or, rather, deep-fried ice cream, maybe? Hmm, epiphany right here, folks."

_The book closed with a snap, and Fran looked back into the camera lens, casually adjusting the large white chef's hat which had appeared on her head, sometime between the opening of the book to the closing._

"And that wraps up today's half-segment, on pudding from around the world. After a fifteen minute commercial break, I will unfortunately be seeing you all again, for the 'practical' portion, now that 'theory' is over. Which means… baking. Some cooking. A lot of freezing and dicing and slicing. Well, not for me, obviously, since the assistants do that preparation stuff beforehand. As for you? … I can't really say what I'd like to say, because then I'd be on probation and have my paycheck slashed. Again. So bye camera zoom out before I say something I'll regret later."

_It did indeed zoom out; a little late, though, since her last run-on sentence had been recorded._

"_That's a cut, people. Should I be regretting making this a real-time live-streaming show?"_

"_There are certainly many things about you that I'd regret if I were in your shoes."_

"_Oh, be quiet, little one. Haven't you learned rhetorical question by now?"_

"_Of course, shishou. I just don't plan on using what I've learned."_

"_Kufufufufu… Would a pay dock and a ban on lunchtime pudding change your mind?"_

"_If this is a case of the donkey, the carrot, and the stick, then you do realize that I could always go to TeleVaria, right? They still have that offer open, shishou."_

"_Oya, oya, but do you really want to deal with that 'Bel-sempai' of yours any more often than you already do?"_

"_... I shall remain quiet because that's a rhetorical question, shishou."_

"_Smart choice, little one."_

* * *

****Omake:****

-AU of the above Omake, a.k.a. 'what would've happened if Fran didn't think of caramel pudding ('flan') as real pudding' a.k.a. 'what would've happened if Fran didn't think of custard as a synonym for pudding' a.k.a. 'what would've happened if Fran unintentionally hates her alternate name 'Flan''.-

"Connoisseur Fran? The audience has a question."

_Fran is shown midway through devouring a giant __crème brûlée 'cake'. She impatiently flicks one hand at the nervous-looking technician who had just scurried onstage, wordlessly gesturing for him to go on._

"...?"

_The technician shifts timidly, uncomfortable under the glaring spotlights and sweating. He manages to quickly spit out the question before scurrying back into the shadows of 'off-stage'._

"Th-They wanted to know your opinion on f-flan, ma'am."

_She stills. _

_Then, very, very, very slowly, Fran cranes her neck to stare with unnerving intensity at the blinking camera lens live-streaming the show, her spork nearly crumpling under the pressure exerted by her suddenly clenched fingers._

_(The __crème brûlée 'cake' is even abandoned, such was her required concentration on answering the question.)_

_Finally, she breaks the deathly silence with a darker monotone than usual, eyes mysteriously hooded and features less pleasantly bland than was the norm._

"That… _faker_… is _not_ a '_pudding_'," _she states quite clearly, eyes narrowing the tiniest of fractions._

_Her spork trembles slightly, bending minutely._

"It is an _imposter_. It's a _custard dessert_ with a layer of _soft_ caramel, unlike _crème brûlée_, which is _actual_ pudding with a layer of _hard_ caramel. Also, it always seems to be what people mistake my blog's name for; my name is _Fran_ not a _food_. Even _Frances_ is better than _Flan!_ Who names their child _Flan?_"

_She takes in a deep breath, calming down from her short rant, and helpfully ignoring the voice at the back of her head adding 'who names their child Lambo/Lampo/Tuna[Tsuna]/Corpse[Mukuro]?'._

"Basically, I wish whoever first thought of 'flan' would suffer a slow and agonizing death by untreatable diabetes and a heart attack at the most embarrassing moment ever, and if anyone asks me about it again, I will throw whatever is most throwable near me at their heads. Bianchi gave me some very useful tips on smashing someone's face in with food."

_Stiffly, Fran goes back to her crème brûlée, attacking it perhaps with more viciousness than strictly called for, and seen reverts back to her default blanked-faced expression once enough of the sweet dessert has been stuffed down her throat._

"And thus concludes this week's episode of 'Pudding Talk'. Tune in next week, dear audience, to witness a debate between Pudding Talk's hostess, the ever-aloof Fran Brume, and Marshmallow Mania's host, the ever-playful Byakuran Gesso! Who shall win the battle between friends?"

_The screen faded to, dissolving around the edges, with a faint but distinct 'DUN__dun__dun...' playing on in the background._

_Then flashes a picture of a screaming person being jabbed with a trident, before just as quickly flashing away._

_(The viewers simply smile and laugh._

_Kokuyo Media Production's Ceo, Mukuro Rokudo, was known for being somewhat of a troll._

_Startling snapshots would always appear directly after Kokuyo M.P.'s top shows.)_

* * *

****Omake:****

-Continued from above.-

Kokuyo Media Production'_s top-streaming shows, in order of popularity:_

* * *

_-_'To Kill a Mockingbird (and How to Hide the Body)' _is a critically acclaimed thriller/documentary/mystery/murder series, that mixes fact and fiction and always attracts fans because of it's fast-paced action and masterfully drawn-out suspense. _

_Mukuro Rokudo stars as the main criminal, a serial killer who had suffered an abusive childhood and a brief stint in an illegal government human-experimentation lab. _

_[Which was probably a big factor in the number of obsessed fangirls {and fanboys}, since everyone loves a bad-boy, after all.]_

_Kyoya Hibari and Tsunayoshi Sawada, from _VongolaVision'_s elite _Tenth Division, _often star as the Head of Police and the infamous Lion Vigilant, respectively. Fans love to speculate on the intense rivalry between Mukuro and Kyoya, and on the equally intense 'reformation' attempts between Mukuro and Tsunayoshi. _Kokuyo _and _VongolaVision _always make enormous profits whenever selling special-edition magazines featuring them interacting._

_. . ._

_Chrome Dokuro, Fran Brume, M.M., Chikusa Kakimoto, and Ken Joshima play supporting characters, as "Meroch", "Fern", "Emilie", "Chen", and "Josh"._

_. . ._

_Chrome plays Mukuro's devoted half-sister who has a terminal illness; he pays discretely for her hospital bills, and she helps him out whenever she can, mostly utilizing her prodigious talent at hacking. Season 3's plot twist revolves around her newly uncovered romantic relationship with Kyoya, who she formerly didn't realize was the one hunting down her half-brother. Kyoya is unaware of their true relation, but suspects Mukuro to be blackmailing Chrome, who he is about to propose to. Mukuro is unaware of Chrome and Kyoya's true relation, but suspects him to be interrogating and guilting information about Mukuro's whereabouts out of her. Tensions rise between them, and Chrome is torn between confessing everything or tremulously maintaining her current life._

_. . ._

_Fran plays Mukuro's apprentice of a sorts, an orphaned street rat he picks up one day on the run. He taught her all that he could about deception and infiltration and theft, and soon Fran was a freelancing spy/thief who always kept one ear to the ground for news on her 'master', and answered to his call without fail. However, she lands in trouble in Season 2. When on a mission for Mukuro, to steal a shard of the Breakthrough Ice-Diamond from the Zero-Point Institute of Artifacts, she encounters a Airav agent undercover, and finds out that their leader, X, had been hired to protect the Zero-Point Institute by the Alognov. She goes to consult Mukuro to revise their plans, unaware that the agent had seen through her undercover disguise as well. She's ambushed by the Airav agent in the nearby park's forest, and awakens to find that she's been captured by a knife-wielding blond calling himself the 'Ripper Prince'. Now Fran has to do some fast-talking in order to get out of __**this**_ _mess…_

_. . ._

_M.M. plays Mukuro's secondary spy and thief, and his primary contact for getting high-up connections and pulling a few strings. She is portrayed as a heartless miser and scarlet woman, with a manipulative streak only countered by her short temper and screaming fits, which often give away her hidden motives rather quickly. There are hints of her formerly knowing Mukuro, and having had a past infatuation with him. She is mentioned less than Chrome and Fran, and most of her screentime is taken up with informing Mukuro of important happenings, and bickering with the others in Mukuro's 'web'._

_. . ._

_Chikusa and Ken play Mukuro's chief 'enforcers', meaning that they do most of the physical work requiring brute force. Chikusa is also Mukuro's secondary hacker and primary assassin/poisoner. Ken trains attack, surveillance, and tracker animals. They attack and defend on command, and can be ordered to observe an area or a person by hiding cameras and recording devices on their body, and can track down a person or thing by scent. The animals include dogs, cats, opossums, and various birds. He works part-time at the zoo, to provide a legal paperwork trail. They show up about as much as M.M. does, and are usually portrayed as as comedic 'stoic and energetic' duo._

_Cameos are made by 'Birds' and 'Lanchia', as well as the 'Bloody Twins'._

* * *

-'Pudding Talk' _is a baking/commentary show, reknown for it's thorough analyzations and break-down of pudding tastes, scents, nutrition, quality, etc. Truly, a show dedicated to pudding fans and soon-to-be pudding converts. _

_(Of course, there are always a few fans who watch the show for the sole purpose of ogling the many attractive people featured. 'Kuudere Fran' is extremely popular, and, well, when you look at how she savors pudding…)_

_Frances Amarante Brume hosts the show, as an internationally recognized pudding expert. _

_There's a guest star every other episode, with _TeleVaria _star Belphegor Veles, _Kokuyo M.P. _stars Mukuro Rokudo and Chrome Dokuro, _VongolaVision Tenth Division _stars Tsunayoshi Sawada and Fuuta de la Stella, and _Millefiore Media _stars Byakuran Gesso and Shoichi Irie and Rasiel Veles as the most commonly reappearing guest stars._

_(Byakuran and Fran's debates over the merits of pudding vs. marshmallows were the stuff of legends. They could go on for __**hours**_…_)_

* * *

-'Beating the Market' _is a financial advisory show, regularly watched because of it's reliable advice and investing suggestions, as well as it's weekly stock market analyzations and trend predicting. _

_M.M. hosts the show, as an internationally recognized currency and economy expert. She often invites former_ TeleVaria _and current _Arcobaleno Theatres _star Esper "Viper" Mammon, to co-host with her._

* * *

-'Yo-Yo Need(-les)' _is a reality TV talent show, filtering through thousands of applicants to rank them based on unique abilities; the finale is a battle royale, so applicants usually have combat experience._

_Chikusa Kakimoto is one of the permanent judges on the panel, as well as the host of the show._

_The other judges rotate frequently, but _VongolaVision Tenth Division'_s Fuuta de la Stella, an internationally recognized statistics expert known as the "Ranking Prince", always attends the finale._

* * *

-'So Long, and Fangs for All the Fish' _is partly an animal behavior and training guide, and partly satirical reviews of popular fiction with many, many bad puns._

_Ken Joshima handles most of the animal behavior and training guide, with Birds giving his input whenever the subject of canaries comes up._

_Birds and Lancia take over the satirical reviews, drawing their dark, subtle humor from theirs years of experience, wisdom, and maturity. As well as their still-childish snide comments and barbs._

_The Bloody Twins are the clean-up crew, and the actors for the reviews' parodies when needed. Their skill in make-up cannot be denied, though they seem to only be able to do Halloween makeup and Tim Burton-like designs._

* * *

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_**Are there any of the omakes you'd actually like to see expanded on? The whole 'TV' shows thing was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but if you'd like, feel free to use them as inspiration. Just remember to cite where the original idea came from. **_

_**Sorry. At this rate, most of the story is just omakes so far. But there are all these **__**ideas**__**, and most of them wouldn't fit smootlhy in the story, so…**_

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_**~Please Review.~ (Extra long chapter again. [Extra long for me, anyway, especially since I don't have buffer chapters and usually upload as soon as I have a chapter finished.])**_


	6. Just Another Reality-Shattering Speech

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**chrihstie**_'_, for your review. I'm glad you liked it. And yes, I fully plan on bringing in Byakuran. Expect to see him once we finally get to the 'Asylum Arc'. How does a megalomaniac, manipulative genius compulsive liar with a marshmallow fixation sound? :0 I'm kinda debating whether or not I should add the Vongola Primo Generation in. I mean, the judge in the second chapter was actually Kyoya's mom, in case no one guessed that. Right now, the 'Kokuyo Arc' is actually one long flashback from the 'Trial for Fire' chapter._

_Thank you, '__**Ann**_'_, for your review. Yup, Fran's 16, Mukuro + M.M. + Ken + Chikusa are 18, and Chrome's 17. I'm really messing with the ages, I know, but this __**is**_ _an AU, so… eh. _

_(Fran has the maturity of a passive-agressive 80-year-old, anyway, with the emotional understanding of a middle-aged psychologist, and the hormones of a 5 year old. Mukuro's got the mentality of a teenaged serial killer, and Chrome's got the naive innocence of a toddler. Adorable, yes. Sweet, yes. Likely-to-get-her-pulverized-without-Mukuro-or-one-of-the-Kokuy-members… for now, yes. When Fran's done smashing her innocence to smithereens, then no. Hell no.) :]_

_Thank you, '__**Theta-McBride**_'_, for your review. And I love getting reviews, as usual._

**Disclaimer:**

_I don't own KHR! or the cover picture. Sadly..._

* * *

Somewhere along the metaphorical line, Fran had been unofficially designated as the official 'therapist' of their little gang.

/Gang, huh? The Kokuyo Gang… has a decent ring to it, I think,/ she mused, strolling lazily down one of the poorly lit Kokuyo dorm hallways, her shoulders lax, with her arms swinging freely at her sides.

Stopping in front of a thin wooden door, which had once been painted gunmetal gray, but now was peeling and heavily dilapidated, Fran glanced briefly at the paper taped to the front ('96', it read in blocky, typed black letters), before ignoring the chipped doorknob and smacking her knuckles against the flat surface.

/Still, I should _so_ be getting paid to do this 'counseling' shit. How did I get roped into it again?/

* * *

"_Wait, why am __**I**_ _suddenly the psychoanalyst here? I barely understand what feelings __**are**__, and I certainly don't care if the pineapple-fairy's here or not. Not getting stabbed by toothpicks day in and day out sounds pretty good to me," Fran complained, stretching out the syllables of her words in such a way to maximize whininess, while never wavering from her monotone droning._

_M.M. clicked her tongue impatiently and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the unaffected tealette. _

_Her usual irritation was absent from her eyes; as a result, their bright purple hue lost a bit of it's startling contrast with her dull red hair._

_The fiery klepto fangirl was looking… __**tired**_ _for once, though she'd sooner stop stealing than admit it. Weary._

_Fran briefly scanned her recent memories of the others._

_Ken, Chikusa, and Chrome were all looking rather worse for the wear, as well._

_/Is that why she confronted me alone?/_

"_Yes, well, it's a case of the lesser evil this time," M.M. scowled, drawing Fran's attention away from the others._

_She spat sullenly on the dry, cracked flagstones of the mostly forgotten Kokuyo courtyard, sliding her eyes to the side as she muttered her next words._

_/A subconscious sign of guilt and embarrassment,/ Fran deduced with a detached, clinical gaze, using what she remembered from psychology and body language books, as well as what the pineapple-fairy had taught her about spotting lies and picking apart facial expressions, tonal, optical, and physical cues. _

_/The way she fidgets her toes, twitches her fingers, tightens her jaw and refuses to look at me directly… she wants to ask for a favor and doesn't know how, so she'll be bluffing her way through. Aggressive inflections, harsh tones, clearly trying to pretend she's fine… signs of fake confidence. Won't look at the pineapple-fairy 2.0 voluntarily, and flinches reflexively when she does… she connects her to the pineapple-fairy, and wants to avoid any reminder of him. Strange that she's actively seeking my help for 'treatment', then. __**Interesting.**__/_

_Blinking calmly, Fran tuned back in to hear what the redhead was saying, mentally replaying what had just happened while she was 'zoned out' in her mindscape. /Huh, the pineapple-fairy was the one to teach me how to organize and access my mindscape. I suppose I should thank him one day. It certainly makes recalling things easier; even with my near-photographic memory, if I __**remember**_ _things but can't properly __**recall**_ _and understand them, it's no use. Like seeing a page of words you can't read, because they're in a foreign language you've never heard of./_

"_The idiot mutt's got anger problems and control issues. Plus, he has the tact and eloquence of a kindergartner elephant trying to find an Easter egg in a house of mirrors, and his only talent is pissing people off and attacking them." _

_/As if you weren't just as curt as him? And aren't you the one who always prattles on and on about me being too blunt? Hypocrite. I mean, not that humankind isn't a bunch of big fat hypocrites in general. No offense to fat people. Oh, never mind; since when have I cared about that? Offense totally meant to fat people./_

"_Yo-yo boy's a bit better, but his emotional spectrum is that of a thrice-zombified robot, and he says, like, maybe one line a __**month**__. He's worse than __**you**._"

_/Is it really wise to insult the person you're trying to ask a favor from? Then again, whoever said the klepto fan girl was wise, was probably a compulsive liar. She __**is**_ _the same person who regularly refers to me as 'pyro bitch'./_

"_And Chrome's a fucking mess. She breaks down crying if the cafeteria serves pineapple chunks for dessert."_

_(After a frigid glare and icy smile from Mukuro when he'd caught her insulting his self-proclaimed 'imouto', M.M. had never again called the eyepatch-wearing girl anything other than 'Chrome'. It was safer that way, and she had less of a chance of being given the 'silent-disapproval treatment' by her beloved 'Mukuro-sama'.)_

_/But didn't the pineapple-fairy 'convince' the kitchen-workers to stop serving anything pineapple-related a few years ago? He kept glowering and mashing them to mushy bits, because people wouldn't stop references to his hair, even after he mentally traumatized them. Stupidity is contagious; or at least, very, very persistent./_

"_You're the best option, then, for obvious reasons. So, will you?"_

_Fran glanced at M.M. indifferently, silently mourning the fact that she was the second-shortest member of their little 'circle', barely beating out the pineapple-fairy 2.0 by a half-inch._

"_Why should I, though? I have no obligation to any of you, and out of all of us, I'm the one least affected by the pineapple-fairy's visit to the water tanks in Vindice. If he was stupid enough to go off and kill a bunch of people and get __**caught**_ _killing them, then it's not like he didn't know what was coming for him," she drawled caustically._

_/Besides, he's not going to die. He's like a cockroach; too stubborn to stop living, if only to spite the hell out of whoever's unfortunate enough to try./_

_She very determinedly ignored the niggling voice in the back of her head that smugly taunted, 'you __**trust**_ _Mukuro enough to believe that he's got a plan already'._

_Because clearly it was a side-effect of the new medication they were slipping into the Kokuyo food._

_Because clearly she'd never __**trust**_ _that pineapple-fairy with __**anything**__._

_Because clearly her subconscious mind would only refer to the pineapple-fairy as the pineapple-fairy, not with his actual __**name**_ _or anything._

_**Clearly.**_

_(She also very determinedly ignored the same niggling voice in the back of her head that smugly taunted, 'why else would you keep coming to Kokuyo, now that there's supposedly nothing to gain? You are __**so**_ _in denial, which is not just a river in Egypt, y'know'.)_

_Seemingly understanding that any appeals (or other attempted manipulations) to Fran's emotional sentiments (or lack thereof) would not work, the redhead skipped over that part of negotiations and went straight for the kill (or in this case, flat-out bribery)._

"_I know that the kitchens have been cutting off your supply of pudding now that Mukuro-sama's gone. I can get you as much pudding as you'd like, with my connections," was her offer._

_Mildly amused, though none of the amusement showed, Fran agreed._

_/True, I've been going through 'pudding withdrawal', but it's funny that everyone thinks that's the only thing I like, and that it's the start-all-end-all for my decisions. Not everything's about pudding; I __**do**_ _have other hobbies. No one seems to notice them, though, which is rather ironic considering that one of them is the entire reason I'm in Kokuyo in the first place. Eh, well, it's not like more pudding will hurt me much, other than the possibility of getting diabetes. 'Counseling' might prove to be __**interesting**_ _as well; a way to pass the time until the pineapple-fairy pops back up again./_

_They shook hands, with M.M. immediately releasing and shaking out her fingers with a minor look of disgust, probably from the soot stains still dusting Fran's skin._

"_Just to be clear, __**I**_ _don't need therapy, and I __**don't**_ _care about the others. It'd just be too much of a hassle if Mukuro-sama ends up with useless subordinates when he comes back," she clarified forcefully, warily eyeing the other girl standing across from her._

_Fran smiled blandly, her hand coming back to a rest at her side._

"_**Clearly**__," she echoed amiably._

* * *

/Oh, yeah.

That was how.

Thank you, helpfully timed flashback./

"Pineapple-fairy 2.0? You in there?"

A few muffled sobs and sniffling sounds from behind the door were all that answered her.

If she were anybody else (except maybe Chikusa), Fran would've heaved an eye-rolling sigh at that moment.

But she wasn't.

So she didn't.

Instead, she chose to make good use of the pineapple-fairy's tutelage.

'When in doubt, or locked out, carve out your own path, or your own way in.'

His preferred entrance-way had been to seek out the unconventional, the unexpected.

As in, a flashy, glass-shattering window-break.

His second-most preferred entrance-way (and most commonly used, seeing as the itchy shards always seemed to tunnel under his skin), had been to remove the prominent obstacle in the way.

As in, the door.

/Now _that_ has to go.../

…

_Thud!_

…

_Errk…_

…

_**Fwump!**_

…

Chrome's head shot up with an 'eep!', and a noiseless flailing motion with her arms, entangled among the scratchy gray fabric that made up the Kokuyo standard-assigned mandatory pajamas.

(Because of _course_ a juvenile detention center has to provide sleepwear, and of _course_ bringing in personal sleepwear is a liability in case someone smuggles in safety hazards, so of _course_ the Board of Administrators came up with the brilliant idea of forcing everyone to wear identically manufactured and daily-cleaned sets of unisex pajama shirts and pants.)

(Not that it prevents any of the idiots with more than one brain cell from circumventing the horrible security check-ins. Bribery fixes any chances of being discovered in the 'random' room searches.)

(Unless you got on the bad side of Mukuro, in which case you were doomed and had better get the hell out as soon as possible, since all of the staff [and all of the students as well] were terrified of him.)

(He had a reputation for being batshit insane and a manipulative genius and not being afraid to combine those two factors for an extremely efficient and effective result.)

( ... Fran was 99.9991274% sure that Mukuro had spread and maintained those rumors himself. His supremely self-satisfied expression whenever it was brought up kinda gave it away.)

/She was,/ Fran decided, /acting not too unlike a very timid violet-furred squirrel who had just witnessed something completely ridiculously _obvious_.

Like, for example, someone who had just kicked down a door because they weren't let in.

Now why was that?/

The tealette glanced down at the rubble of the wooden door underneath her feet, where it had crashed onto the threadbare carpet after she'd kicked it down because she hadn't been let it.

/Oh.

That might have something to do with it.

… Eh, it's not my problem./

After making a mental note to tell the repair staff that Room 96's door had been knocked off of it's hinges again (a note that she may or may not follow through with, depending on her mood, motivation, and how much pudding was going to be served with dinner today), she 'innocently' stepped onto the concrete floor, from which reached the never-ending chill that constantly plagued the quiet halls of the Kokuyo dorms.

* * *

(There were ghost stories about the Kokuyo dorms.

Who could blame the storytellers?

The Kokuyo dorms had once been a lively, thriving academy building, after all.

And now look at it.

All cold, unyielding stone, leeching warmth from it's reluctant inhabitants, and offering no solace, no sympathy in return. Only shelter, and leaky, drafty shelter at that, while invisible eyes always seemed to watch from behind the leafy ivy leaves that curled and furled like an infestation of envious moss over the ancient bricks and mortar.

People shivered when they passed, walking faster with hunched backs against the non existent breeze, warding off _whoknowswhat_ with all the feeble fragility of humans.

Except for Fran.

Fran and Mukuro.

They didn't believe in ghost stories.

Mukuro already had enough real-life memories to haunt him.

Memories that were worse than any made-up imitations meant to frighten those with weaker character and personality.

{Memories of the orphanage he'd run away from, of the orphanage staff and director, of the silent cruelties dealt in the oppressed shadows to wide-eyed waifs who didn't know how to respond…

… Memories that, perhaps, were the reason of his fleeing from Kokuyo, of his murders, of his sloppy actions that landed him knowingly in Vindice?

Perhaps.}

And Fran just didn't know what this thing called 'fear' was.

Why should she 'fear' words?

Because that was all that 'ghosts' were to her.

Words.

Had she ever felt 'fear' before?

Maybe.

When she was young and impressionable and much more emotional than she was today.

When the absence {deaths} of her parents had possibly _meant_ something to her, once upon a forgotten time.

But not now.

Not after her granny died and her house burned down.

_{Not after her caretaker ceased to breathe and she lit up her abode with those flaring, flickering, fiery drapes of finery and cinders, and Fran __**breathed**_ _and felt __**free**_ _and thrived in the __**life**_ _of the moment…}_

… They didn't believe in ghost stories, and they weren't the only ones who didn't in Kokuyo.

They were, however, the only ones who weren't afraid.)

* * *

"Pineapple fairy 2.0, that was rather rude of you," Fran commented, preferring to stay standing, instead of taking a seat on the rickety wooden chair.

Chrome poked her fingers together and stammered out an apology.

"S-sorry," she mumbled, unsure of how to reply to the younger girl's words.

Despite them having known each other for a year so far (6 months since Mukuro's desertion and imprisonment in Vindice), their relationship was still quite awkward.

Fran was blunt to the point of offensiveness, not bothering to mince words or phrase them delicately. She got straight to the point, and her acerbic, abrasive attitude often rubbed others the wrong way.

There was certainly no lack of self-assurance and confidence; she usually spoke the truth, firm in her insurance of honesty, but had no qualms about bold-faced lying. Mukuro's teachings had only strengthened her natural poker-face, and at this point, she could say almost anything with a straight expression.

Meanwhile, Chrome was so utterly afraid of offending people that she did the exact opposite. Dancing around a subject, tentatively voicing concerns in the gentlest way possible, cowering with frantic apologies if someone appears to take her intentions with the slightest bit of negativity.

With her brother-figure, her savior, her "anchor" gone, she very nearly collapsed back into her former, familiar mindset. Subservient, hopeless, with less than no self-confidence.

Then Fran comes, laden with cold-cut and _honest_ analyzations; there is no sympathy to be found with her, no, but there are facts, and there are solutions, and it's always the things you _don't know_ how to deal with that are the scariest.

So the tealette talks and counsels and advises, voice clear and words ringing of calm authority, in a "take-it-or-leave-it" manner that leaves no room for doubting and questioning, and Chrome listens and hears and understands, following the orders gratefully, grateful because orders and demands were all that she had to latch onto when she grew as a child, and in a strange, twisted way, that helps.

Don't answer back.

Don't argue.

Don't disobey.

Don't be heard, be seen, be known.

The shadows were her banishment and her home.

The light was her dream and the area she was forbidden to tread, reserved exclusively for those monsters-in-human-guise pantomiming as her parents.

But she knew better now.

They _weren't_ her parents, _couldn't_ be her parents, because parents were supposed to _care_ for and _protect_ and _aid_ and _help_ and _**cherish**_ and _**love**_…

… And certainly none of that had occurred.

So they weren't her parents, were ever her parents to begin with, since that was what Mukuro-nii said.

Mukuro-nii was always right.

If nothing else, she could always trust Mukuro-nii.

… When Chrome had revealed that during their odd, random "therapy sessions"-

No.

Not "revealed", not exactly.

"Revealed" implied that it had been voluntarily given.

Chrome wasn't quite _against_ the therapy. She knew it would help her, knew it had to be done, knew that the younger girl with the clinical eyes and clipped speech and the knowledge imparted from Mukuro-nii was the best option to do it.

She also knew that the tealette had an unnerving way of picking people apart, down to their primal cores and motivations and _whys_.

(And she didn't always put them back together again right; sometimes since she didn't know _how_, sometimes since she didn't know how but persisted in going ahead to do it anyway, ending up with a person who was just a tad _off_, like mismatched puzzle pieces being forcibly mashed together to fit.)

'Knowing' didn't make it any less startling when it happened to _her_.

Fran had simply stated it out-front one day, gathered from half-said insinuations and stutters, from what _wasn't_ being said.

* * *

"_So," she'd drawled, "it's a classic case of child abuse, huh?"_

_Blinking in shock, the violet-haired girl didn't say anything for a few seconds, until it became evident that Fran was seeking some sort of answer._

"_A-Ah!" Chrome gasped. "U-Um, s-sorry? I-I didn't quite c-catch your dr-drift?"_

_A sigh, an eye-roll._

"_Fine, I'll make it simple. You've obviously been abused as a child, or at least severely neglected. The pineapple-fairy can't be your biological brother; you two only have about a 30% facial feature match, when you take away the similar hairstyles, that were probably thrown in just to up the rates of appearing to be related if observed casually. He's got a superiority complex, definitely some childhood trauma there too, but that's not important. We're focusing on __**you**_ _right now._

"_Anyway, the constant stammering and refusal of eye contact or physical contact shows lack of self-confidence. The way you speak and seem to fear verbal or physical retribution, easily seen from when the klepto fan girl verbally assaulted you while taking a physically aggressive stance? Big, flashy, metaphorical neon signs that point to an inferiority complex. A likely circumstance for you meeting the pineapple-fairy would be sometime in childhood. He was admitted to Kokuyo when he was 10, if I remember correctly._

"_I don't recall much about the pineapple-fairy's childhood. He never really told us. I can, however, infer that he was on the run for a while, judging by his severe distrust of authority figures, adult or otherwise. Being involved in a gang might fit, too. His eye tattoo says volumes about the supervision he was under, or, more accurately, the lack thereof. If we portray you as the lonely, shy, abused child, then he'd be the confident, inspiring, silver-tongued street rat; him saving you from a situation would provoke the kind of hero-worship you have going on. Or simply as a somewhat-friendly face; it makes sense for you to lock onto that kind of emotional support and warmth._

"_Time-skip, blah blah blah. You get into some sort of trouble, your guardians ditch you. Bam! You're devastated. So you call out to the pineapple-fairy, the only person you can place faith in, and beg him to help you. He agrees, of course, and takes you under his wing once you arrive at Kokuyo. He's your safety net, your teddy bear, your blanket, whatever. Now he's at 'savior' status._

"_Then he ups and leaves without you. Bam! You're doubly devastated, because now you've been left behind __**again**__, and this time by someone you trusted. News of his imprisonment in Vindice reaches you, and now you're determined to believe he's innocent, or at least had a very good, justifiable reason for doing what he did. _

"_But now what will you do? Your safety symbol's gone, and you're alone in unexplored waters where dark creatures lurk in the depths. So you close up and fold inwards, bottling everything up, trying to be 'strong' like your safety symbol, or to be 'strong' __**for**_ _your safety symbol. It doesn't work out well, though. You relied on him for everything; assurance, advice, direction. You don't know how to function without him."_

_Fran stopped, staring levelly at the trembling girl._

"_So that's what I'm supposed to do. Help you __**learn**_ _to function without him."_

_Another sigh, a head-shake._

"_I can see we won't be getting any further than this today. Think about it. I'm off to deliver some more reality-shattering, life-changing speeches now. Ugh, I need a bottle of water for this. My throat's disgustingly dry…"_

_Her voice trailed off._

_The door closed behind her._

_Chrome sat very, very still on her bed, looking down on her clasped fingers._

_She thought._

* * *

It had gotten a fair bit better since then.

She had come to uneasy terms with her fragile psyche, and Fran continued to bulldoze onward, plowing down any delusions of denial, and presenting the bare bones of the matter, laid bare for her to see.

There were relapses, of course.

Awful crying fits, where she'd break down in ugly heaving sobs.

Sometimes it was the cafeteria: Mukuro-nii had sat there.

Sometimes it was the hallways: Mukuro-nii had led me down this way.

Sometimes it was the classrooms: Mukuro-nii had riled up the teachers into spluttering, red-faced wrecks.

Sometimes it was the dorms: Mukuro-nii had lived here, slept here, walked here, laughed here…

For professional initiative, Fran had confiscated most of Chrome's trident-toothpicks early on.

"_No use in wasting my time on 'therapy' if my patients decide to off themselves. Death by toothpick. Not the best tombstone engraving. Would you rather be cremated?"_

"Hey, snap out of it. Are you listening?" Fran inquired, bored, prodding her 'patient'.

Chrome blinked, eyes clearing up.

She immediately blushed fiercely and threw her hands up in a shaky 'surrender' motion.

"A-Ano! S-Sorry, I was j-just lost in th-thought," she apologized.

Fran sighed, propping up her chin with the flat of her palm.

"What have I told you? Stop apologizing. Your stutter's still too noticeable. We don't even need Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer; we have pineapple-fairy 2.0, the red-cheeked pineapple-clone."

Smiling tremulously, Chrome shrugged weakly.

Before, the comments would've crushed her.

Now, she could recognize them as just being part of the tealette's natural personality.

/At least it's progress,/ Fran thought.

…

…

_There was a lot more progress than that, actually._

…

…

"Right, so today we'll be confronting your feelings for the pineapple-fairy. Again. Are you sure that there isn't a little more than platonic love going on here?"

"E-Eh!? N-No!"

…

…

_Then Mukuro returned._

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Never change, Fran, never change. I totally ship 6996, by the way, if you couldn't tell from the last little snippet at the bottom. (More like a last-ditch attempt to inject some humor…)**_

_**Sorry to any 'Replacement' readers: it's on hiatus now. Stupid writer's block…**_

_**On another note, watch out for an upcoming Fem!Fuuta fic: Nebula. His canon!past has a lot of plot holes, just like Fran's canon!past, so it'll be interesting. It'll be slow-updating, probably. And it's basically an AU!Fuuta from Fuuta's home planet, a.k.a. the Ranking Planet, who was reincarnated (kinda?) into the canon Fuuta. Except obviously it's not canon Fuuta anymore, because Fuuta's a girl, and responds differently to a childhood being bounced around from Mafia Famiglia to Mafia Famiglia. Because come on, if you've lived your childhood being taken advantage of for a freaky supernatural 'ranking power', you're bound to have some issues, right? And Mafia = deaths and dark stuff.**_

_**Summary:**_

**_The girl with galaxies in her gaze perches on to rooftops to stare at the faraway stars, to the soundtrack of moons mourning madness and suns singing sadness forever playing on. Is it no surprise when she isn't altogether there in the end? Fem!Fuuta. Futuristic!(OC/AU!Fuuta)!Semi-SI, where the Ranking Planet is actually an alien civilization, and now Fuuta's got a mostly alien soul with a few fragments of human heart. (Hey, it explains the mysterious hammerspace for her Ranking Book, doesn't it? Fuuta's planet looks after their own.)_**

**_(Last note, I promise.) : I have just discovered the amazingness of Kuroko no Basuke (KnB), and it is now one of my fave fandoms, right up there with Hetalia, Naruto, KHR!, and the countless crossovers with Kuroshitsuji, Harry Potter, Supernatural, etc. AllKuro and All27 forever~! (AkaKuro and 1827 are probably my fave faves, though, if I had to pick...)_**

**_So yeah, just here to spread the amazing amazingness of KnB. GO WATCH IT. YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT. :0_**

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_


	7. And Thanks For All The Fish

**This is officially a deadfic.**

**I leave you with apologies, and thanks, and this drabble that was supposed to be included in the future installments (that are now nonexistent).**

**.**

**.**

**.**

They were both on kitchen duty, because, as the others reasoned, if Fran left everything overcooked and fiery and charred, and Belphegor left everything _under_cooked and bloody and raw, then together the should be able to make a half-decent meal.

(And they really had no excuse for putting Fran and Byakuran on kitchen duty together, not after last time.

Was it truly a surprise when the only things they churned out had been marshmallow-adorned pudding, marshmallow-flavored pudding, and, inexplicably, pudding-flavored marshmallows?)

"I'd better not hear the fire alarm and-or the grievious injury alarm in the next ten minutes," Mammon warned darkly, having been unanimously chosen as the apathetic/sulky duo's escort on account of being the only one who could somewhat control them both.

"Yes, cousin dear," Fran muttered.

Bephegor just laughed.

. . . To their credit, they lasted 11 minutes before the alarms sounded in quick succession.

(Mammon had the niggling suspicion that one or the other had brought along some sort of timer specifically to record that.

Unfortunately, there wasn't any real way to prove it, especially as the kitchen had to be completely remodeled after suffering severe burn and knife damage, despite the sharpest knife stocked being a plastic butter knife.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Enjoy the rest of your day, with the thought of a bored Fran and a cackling Belphegor to entertain you~!**


End file.
